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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22956172">Florescentia</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingandGoingByBubble/pseuds/ComingandGoingByBubble'>ComingandGoingByBubble</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder - Lutvak/Freedman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Slow burn fic, lionel is his own warning, phoebe x sibella, phoebella, this is first and foremost a phoebella piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:15:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>44,806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22956172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingandGoingByBubble/pseuds/ComingandGoingByBubble</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Florescentia: to blossom or flourish. </p><p>After Monty Navarro's untimely death by the hangman's noose for the murder of Lord Adalbert D'ysquith, Sibella fulfills her promise to Monty by looking after his widow, Phoebe D'ysquith. However, their unlikely friendship soon blossoms into something more, something that neither women ever anticipated happening.<br/>(Eventual Phoebella)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Phoebe D'Ysquith/Monty Navarro, Phoebe D'Ysquith/Sibella Hallward, Sibella Hallward/Lionel Holland, Sibella Hallward/Monty Navarro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I Don't Know What I'd Do Without You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Florescentia</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter One: I Don’t Know What I’d Do Without You</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Lionel had forbidden her to visit him.</p><p>          Truth be told, Lionel had forbidden her to do a lot of things, but per usual about things concerning Monty, Sibella ignored her husband and did as she wished, regardless of the consequences. </p><p>          He had not lectured her, most people found that lecturing her only made her desire to do what she wished grow tenfold, but he simply stated that she was not to see Montague Navarro and instead stay at home and be a dutiful wife to him.</p><p>          Lionel thought it past time for her silly affections over Monty Navarro to be done and over with. Obviously he thought that soon the noose and hangman would take care of that for him, as did the rest of the county, but Sibella remained headstrong. </p><p>          But then the guilty verdict had been reached, the headlines of the death sentence splashed on every newspaper that her eyes scanned across. The words whispered amongst the people of Clapham, and London. </p><p>          The hope of Monty being saved seemed to lessen every day. </p><p>          Tomorrow was the supposed day of execution and Sibella would not let Lionel stop her from seeing Monty for what would hopefully not be the last time. </p><p>          The policemen gave her rather strange looks upon her arrival at the jail, for usually only family sought to ever visit those convicted.  After stating her visitation plea, one of the policemen took her down the long damp corridor to the cell where Monty was being held.</p><p>          As each step rebounded on the stone floor, Sibella felt her heart race. The thought of Monty’s sweet smile and those mischievous eyes no longer being here to look at, no longer manifested in front of her to reach out and touch, made her feel violently sick.  His tender embrace and warm kiss vanishing from this world was more painful to her than she dared to admit even to herself. Monty Navarro, for all that she teased him, was everything to her. He had been by her side constantly, consistently throughout the years. Ever since he was a little boy in Clapham and she a little girl, Monty had always been there. The terrible thought, the terrible truth of him soon leaving this world made her heart break into a thousand pieces. </p><p>          She had spent the last few days agonizing over what she was going to say to Monty once she confronted him in those damp, dark cells. A haphazard haze of phrases and words had come to her mind, but nothing concrete had stuck in her mind, for how she could word her grief, her anguish of possibly losing the one man she had been in love with forever?</p><p>          The guard rapped on the bars, the sound ringing out amidst the silence.</p><p>          “You have a visitor, Your Lordship,” he announced. </p><p>          He took a glance back at Sibella. She gathered she looked quite outlandish, for a supposed friend visiting  someone in a dark jail cell, her dark pink dress betraying nothing of the deep feelings of sadness and desperation within her heart. Her blonde hair hung in loose ringlets around her face, her bangs just grazing the tops of her meticulously groomed dark eyebrows.</p><p>          Only her trembling lips and sad eyes told of her pain, but the guard did not see that. <em>Men are such blind creatures</em>, Sibella thought to herself, as the guard stepped a few feet away, giving her and Monty some privacy. The guard seemed to know nothing of her pain, just as her husband seemed to be somewhat ignorant of the true cause of her anxiety these past few weeks. The only exception was Monty. He was never blind to anything, to the faults nor restrictions of society, to the restraints of the classes, upper and lower alike. He had always faced his lack of wealth in a pragmatic way, at least until this business with the D’ysquiths after his poor Mother’s death. </p><p>          For a moment, Sibella considered all that had happened, with the D’ysquiths and everything. These last few months had been such a blur to herself, and she supposed to Monty as well. Who could have known that this time in their lives would have been such an unpredictable whirlwind of events that ultimately led them here? She herself, only six months married, and Monty married and rotting away in a cell for the crime of murder. </p><p>          She took a moment to steady herself,  for she did not know what to expect, and then  peered inside the cell. It looked more comfortable than she had anticipated. Taking into consideration Monty’s newly acquired status, his arrangements had been made befitting of his rank. Sibella spotted a bed in the far corner, a writing desk with a tome on the surface of it, a dim lamp swinging softly near her. Still, the bars kept them separate. The guard had not bothered to unlock the door, even with his pity towards her, he still refused to break all of the rules. </p><p>          She was only half annoyed with that, but then Monty emerged quietly from the bed, coming to stand near her, on the opposite side of the bars. </p><p>          A ghost of a smile spread across his face, and Sibella’s heart soared. For a moment she was back in Clapham, with Monty pretending to be the daring prince saving her from the horrible monster that had locked her up, only this time it was Monty who was imprisoned and not her.</p><p>          That fact sobered her for a moment, her own smile fading fast. </p><p>          She had tried everything, everything to save him. She had gone behind Lionel’s back, getting in touch with Lionel’s supposed business associates, the lawyers and policemen and such, anyone who could help. They all had replied that there was nothing they could do. She even reached out to Grahame, her own brother, hoping that the sentimental feelings born of a shared youth would sway him away from his studies to help their childhood friend, but he had replied that although he was studying law that there was nothing he could do to help.</p><p>          “You came.” Monty  marveled, smiling at her.</p><p>          Her heart jumped at hearing his voice, it had been so long since she had last seen him, last heard him. The trial was the last time she saw him during this whole mess, and before that, it was that awful dinner at Highhurst Castle. She relished the tender tone his voice took when addressing her. Just hearing him made her feel calm. </p><p>          “Of course I did,” she replied, her whispered tone matching Monty’s. Her fingers reached out and grasped at the cold bars of iron lightly, just to be near him.</p><p>          He took a moment to reply, and when he did, all of his boyish charm had vanished, the smile wiped clean.</p><p>          “I wasn’t sure you would. You’ve been rather busy, as of late,” he replied in a clipped voice. </p><p>          She pressed her lips together tightly, and then bit down on her lip hard. Monty’s eyes stared at her, she could read everything that he wasn’t saying out loud in his irises. </p><p>          “I- I thought it best to come see you before…” she trailed off, suddenly losing her nerve. She had wanted to snap back a tart reply, to say something horrid about Monty’s relationship in return, but the reality of it all hit her and she faltered.</p><p>          “Before I’m executed, you mean…” Monty clarified.</p><p>          Sibella stiffened as if he had struck her, she hated, hated hearing that phrase, that word. The thought of Monty being executed was too horrible for her. </p><p>          Monty seemed to realize this, his face softened. </p><p>          “Sibella, I’m… I’m sorry,” he said earnestly, “I haven’t been myself these last few days.”</p><p>          She allowed a beat of silence to fill the air, before she recollected herself and answered him.</p><p>          “That’s understandable, given the circumstances.”</p><p>          A grim smile appeared on his face and then vanished. </p><p>          His hair had grown in the time since she had last seen him. It reminded her of the dark locks he used to have in his youth.</p><p>           “Your hair’s so long. You should get it cut,” she got out in a choked voice. It was a stupid, trivial thing to say, but the words had slipped out. The man that stood before her was still the boy she had loved back in Clapham, still the teenager she had kissed, still the lover she had pledged herself to even though she had gone and gotten married when his lack of wealth panicked her. </p><p>          “Phoebe said the same thing, when she visited.”</p><p>          Sibella swallowed hard at the mention of Monty’s wife. She seemed almost the opposite of Sibella in every way. Sweet and gentle where Sibella was temperamental and cruel. Dark haired opposed to Sibella’s fair hair. Monty’s legal wife when Sibella was just his mistress.</p><p>          She did not know what to say to the mention of Phoebe. Her mouth turned dry. </p><p>          “I’ve written to Grahame,” she said instead, producing the letter from her brother to Monty from her handbag. She gave it to him through the bars, “He sends his love, he’s asked his colleagues from Oxford to help if they can.”</p><p>          He took the letter, opening it, eyes scanning across the words. </p><p>          She watched him silently, taking every gesture, every feature in. The thought of this being the last time that she’d ever see him sent sharp pains to her heart. She winced slightly, and tried to focus on Monty, on his dark dark hair, his ocean blue eyes, his pale complexion. </p><p>          She swallowed hard, savoring every tick, every movement. His fingers flipped the page over and she remembered the sensation of his fingers running across her bare shoulder,  the moon high in the sky, her head buried snugly in his warm chest. His fingers would spin small circles on her skin, and she’d fall asleep peacefully. </p><p>           Her throat became choked then, tears threatened to fall. She wanted more than anything to break down the bars and engulf him in an embrace that would last forever, pressing his lips to hers so that they would breathe as one, never to be separated.</p><p>           She wanted him, but not for his body, not for the bliss he gave her at night. She wanted him because she loved him, but the thought of losing him forever caused her vision to become starry and panicked, and her lungs failed to work. </p><p>          He finished reading the letter, folding it back up neatly, gently. He looked up and immediately reached his hand out to grab at hers.</p><p>          She hadn’t realized it was trembling so severely until Monty’s warm, firm grasp kept the tremors in check, her hand involuntarily spasms against his. Her vision turned tearful, her lips quivered. </p><p>         “Sibella,” his voice was low and quiet. “Sibella, look at me.  If I am to meet my end at the hangman’s noose tomorrow morning, you must, you must not let this drive you into a deep depression. I know that the pain will be unbearable, that you will be carrying so much grief, but I ask this of you, my Sibella, you must carry on.”</p><p>          A few tears fell down her cheeks as she took a long breath to steady herself. </p><p>         “I shall try, I promise,” she whispered, her voice felt raw, like someone had torn her throat open.</p><p>         “I must ask one more thing of you, Sibella,” Monty said, squeezing her hand firmly.</p><p>         She swallowed again.</p><p>         “Of course, anything, Monty.”</p><p>         She would have moved Heaven and Earth for him if he had asked her to in that moment.</p><p>         “After I’m gone, I fear that Phoebe will be largely left alone. Seeing as how she has little family left, and the news of my supposed crimes will be such a stain upon her pure reputation, I must ask that you look after her, if you can. I- She does not deserve any of this, any of this pain that I have caused her, and I would be at peace knowing if someone was watching out for her, taking care of her. I understand that this is… a lot… surely to care for someone’s wife is far out of the realm of your responsibilities, but I must beg, for the love you bear me, please show her some kindness, befriend her in my absence. Please, Sibella, I shall rest much easier knowing that you and Phoebe are taking care of one another, supporting one another.”</p><p>        She let her hand fall away from the bars, her fingers curling into themselves in the cold, empty air.</p><p>        Out of all of the things that she had been expecting, this request had evaded her mind entirely. Perhaps due to blissful neglect, for she rather did not want to think on the woman who was Monty’s wife, but the notion that Monty would want the two of them to… to get along after his demise was absurd to her. Surely Monty realized this, surely he understood that the mistress and the wife could never be friends, that they could never be more than acquaintances. </p><p>        The idea of it all made her want to laugh. She considered how it would be, standing in the same room as Monty’s wife, having to come to terms with the fact that she was the mistress and not the wife.</p><p>        She understood where Monty was coming from, to a degree. The safety and protection, security in the knowledge that Phoebe would be looked after. The peace of mind in knowing that his two loves stayed together, kept each other out of harm, but the practicality of it all simply would not pan out.</p><p>        “I doubt Lionel will allow me to see her. You know how he is about his reputation,” the reply came out snarkier and harsher than she had intended. </p><p>        Wounded, Monty frowned.</p><p>        “I didn’t think you would allow Lionel to dictate the rest of your life, Sibella.”</p><p>        “He’s particular about who we are seen with, surely you can understand that, the stain of…. your supposed crime will haunt the D’ysquith name for quite some time, nevertheless your wife.”</p><p>        “And that is why I asked this of you, for who else could I turn to, but you?”</p><p>         He reached for her hand again, straining his fingers towards her through the bars. </p><p>         Her own fingers flinched, nails digging into her skin. She let out a sigh of aggravation, of frustration, of turmoil, for nothing was going how she expected. Monty’s own hand dropped away from the bars in defeat.</p><p>        “Sibella, you are the last person I have to turn to with this. Mother is gone, the D’ysquiths are wiped out…”</p><p>        “What about her Aunt?”</p><p>        Sibella vaguely recalled the dramatic older woman, Lady Eugenia, whom she had briefly interacted with at Highhurst that night. A bit odd and extreme, a flair for drama, but she seemed harmless.</p><p>        “She can’t hide with her family forever. Certainly not after what I’ve put her through. She needs a friend, a true friend, Sibella.”</p><p>        “And you thought that I was the best candidate? Have you lost your senses?”</p><p>        “I understand your hesitation towards doing so, but bear Phoebe no ill will for my deeds. She is innocent of all of this, and that is why I must ask you to at least try and befriend her. You two have more in common than you think.”</p><p>        Sibella struggled to phrase this correctly, for the guard still waiting for her in the corner shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and she did not want to give away her secrets to some nearby stranger by accident.</p><p>        “It’s a rather… delicate position you’re putting me into, Montague, by asking this of me,” she murmured quietly through clenched teeth. </p><p>        Monty hung his head, “I know. I am aware of what I ask of you. But, Sibella, please, it is all that I ask of you. For the love that you bear me, show kindness towards my wife, make a friend, a companion out of her when I’m gone.”</p><p>       The reality of it hit her once more, hit her hard and hit her fast. </p><p>       This was Monty’s last request of her, his last words to her would be of mercy, to be the gentle, kind woman he had always thought her to be, to not turn a blind eye to his distraught wife, and instead  help her. </p><p>       Damn him. Damn him and his innate ability to see and bring out the goodness in her. Goodness was fragile in a world like this, it broke and splintered like glass. Phoebe was bound to break unless someone intervened, and he was asking her to be that person.</p><p>       She had not been kind in a long time. Of course she could be tender, affectionate, loving, but not kind. </p><p>       Sibella Hallward was no fool, she knew exactly how she came across. </p><p>       Shallow, conceited, vain, cruel, heartless.</p><p>       She’d preferred to remain heartless, it was easier that way. Especially to soldier on in a world without Montague Navarro, but she would never say such things out loud. Admitting such a weakness was not her forte. </p><p>       Instead, she swallowed hard, the sound echoing and ringing in her ears. </p><p>       Monty’s fingers briefly touched hers as he reached for her hand again. She let his fingers grasp at hers.</p><p>      “Sibella, please,” Monty implored to her in a quiet, resigned voice, “It’s all I ask.”</p><p>       She parted her lips to speak, but suddenly the guard was at her side.</p><p>        “Time’s up, His Lordship will be receiving lunch soon, ma’am.”</p><p>        A gaping hole of horror appeared in her chest where her heart should have been, a loud thumping pounded in her ears. </p><p>       Time. Time. Time.</p><p>       Time was slipping away from them both. Monty’s was almost over, the sand trickling down from the hourglass. </p><p>        She still had the time to do right, to at least try and attempt what Monty asked of her.</p><p>        The guard tugged at her arm politely.</p><p>        Her eyes landed on Monty, her feet frozen to the spot.</p><p>       “I shall endeavor to do as you ask, Monty. I promise,” she murmured, burying a thousand silent I love you’s in her reply.</p><p>        A small, small smile appeared on his face. His fingers squeezed around hers.</p><p>       “Thank you, Sibella. For everything.”</p><p>       Her feet moved of their own accord out of the building then, the walk back down the corridor a hazy memory, and it was not until she got outside, felt the harsh winter sun on her face, and fresh, cold October air in her lungs, that the terrible reality of it all overtook her.</p><p>        People bustled by on the icy cobblestone lined street, but she paid them no mind, moving through the crowds feverishly, for she needed air, more air, fresh air where no one was around. She stumbled into a park, the snow covered trees providing her solace. A bench appeared to her, red and still coated with snow, and she sat on it, trembling. </p><p>        A harsh cry escaped her lips, and then another.</p><p>        Only the birds replied, their chirps sounding sorrowful in return. </p><p>        For all she had teased him about finding another love, for all of her mocking of him, she loved Monty above everything.. She loved him most of all, and the thought of losing him was terrifying.</p><p>        She truly did not know what she would do without him. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. There's A Grief That Can't Be Spoken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Two: There’s A Grief That Can’t Be Spoken:</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>          She did not sleep that night. It evaded her at every moment, even though her body and heart were tired and wished to rest, her mind would not cease to stop thinking on how come the morning light, Monty would be strung up by his neck till death.</p><p>          The terror that came with that thought seized at her throat, her breaths turning into heaves and gasps. At some point, she left the bed, opting to pace back and forth along the corridor downstairs. The servants were asleep, Lionel had not stirred when she had gone, so she knew she would not be disturbed.</p><p>          Her slippers lightly stepped on the cold hardwood floors as she paced. Guilt closed in all around her. She felt suffocated by it, horrified that Monty was to be killed once the dawn approached, and she had been unable to save him. </p><p>          For a day and a half, she had briefly entertained the idea of enlisting Phoebe to help her in her cause, for surely Monty’s wife was as desperate as she was to see him freed. But she hadn’t summoned the courage to go see the woman to confirm such thoughts, and neither had Phoebe approached her for help.</p><p>          She did not think it odd, for the two of them to be adversaries. At that dinner at Highhurst, she had not been able to conceal her jealousy at the news of Monty’s engagement, and for all that she had berated and begged Monty to come to her own wedding, she did not attend his.  Phoebe seemed bright, a bit naive if Sibella was being honest in her criticism of the other woman, but she doubted she was stupid not to suspect something between Monty and Sibella. After all, only a select few harbored Lionel’s special talent in a complete lack of intelligence and tact. She doubted that the new Countess was so dim-witted, especially considering her passion for reading.</p><p>          She wished that she had enlisted in Phoebe’s help, perhaps they could have come together and created some sort of diversion. She thought that unlikely, however, for the other woman had barely looked at her at the trial, all her attention was for Monty and Monty alone. She did not blame her, for if she was Monty’s wife, he would be all that she was concerned with. </p><p>          Truly she did not know what she’d do if she were in Phoebe’s position. She’d imagine that she’d waste away, succumbing to a deep depression, vowing to never enter society again.</p><p>          After all, the stain of having your husband convicted of a murder is a deep stain to rub clean in society’s eyes. Monty surely knew of this, he must have spoken to Phoebe about it, but true to her nature, Phoebe would never betray him, nor her stance of believing him innocent of the crime against him. </p><p>          Sibella admired Phoebe’s steadfastness. Her loyalty. It was one of her own shortcomings, one of the flaws she knew about yet did not care to attempt to fix. True, she was loyal… to a point. She was loyal to Monty until Lionel showed up with his motorcar. </p><p>          Look where loyalty had gotten her now…</p><p>          She tried not to think on how she was now forever bound to Lionel Holland, never able to feel Monty’s gentle caresses against her skin, never having his lips press against hers. Now until the end of her days, it would be Lionel, Lionel, Lionel.</p><p>          The thought of such a fate made her stomach churn, for his good looks bored her now, his speech was merely a buzzing in her ears, and his touch was abhorrent to her. He was everything that Monty was not in the worst possible way. Stingy where Monty was generous, rough where Monty was tender, tactless where Monty had been ever tactful and careful. His touch was not out of love, but out of duty, and Sibella so desperately yearned to be loved, and now that one person would be dead come morning. </p><p>          She let out a shuddering breath at that, at the realization that Monty would cease to exist, cease to breathe once the rays of dawn rose up from the sky. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to stifle whatever emotion seemed to pour out of her at the moment, grief, fear, rage, guilt… she was not sure, but whatever it was, it was damaging. Sibella felt as if her chest were to burst open, the skin shred right down and expose her wildly beating heart for Lionel or someone to rip it out of her then and there. Tears fell down her cheeks and she did not wipe them away, instead letting them fall onto the delicate fabric of her nightgown. Hysterical cries bubbled at her lips and she sobbed for God knows how long, it seemed like an eternity. He would be gone, gone forever, taken away from her. Her poor Monty. </p><p>        She tried to swallow down her regret, but she couldn’t. For every time she thought of him, she reflected on how utterly cruel she had been towards him this past year, and throughout their childhood. She had toyed with him, used him, manipulated him around her finger like she did with everyone, but all the same she had also loved him fiercely. It had broken her heart to see him wed Phoebe, to see him become another woman’s husband. She forever hated herself for not marrying him when she had the chance, for dooming herself to be Mrs. Lionel Holland until her husband hopefully dropped dead or died in some freak accident. </p><p>      She had been so blind, and so foolish, and now it was too late. </p><p>      It was all too late.</p><p>      She hiccupped then, and brought a trembling hand up to her cheeks to brush away the tears that kept coming. She was sure she looked a fright, far off from the normally poised appearance she tried to keep up at all times. She wiped at her eyes a few more times, and then made to stand. It was nearly morning and that fact alone made her feel ill. </p><p>      He would be brave, Monty was always brave, even when he was scared. In their youth, she had once dared him to go into a cave near a ravine, one where a bear supposed lurked and he had done so without any trace of fear in his face. She herself had been terrified, but hadn’t stopped him. He emerged from the cave unharmed and triumphant and she had loved him ever since. </p><p>      He would face the scaffold with pride, with dignity, for his Mother had impressed upon him the importance of dignity, Sibella remembered well. She hadn’t met Isobel many times, she had not liked going to Monty’s house, for it was rather small, and there was no space away from his Mother’s knowing eyes, but Isobel had always stood out to her as a kind, gentle woman. She had taught him well. </p><p>      Sibella heard movement from upstairs. Lionel was awake. She made her way over to a silver gilded mirror hanging on the wall, glancing at her reflection, for Lionel would sorely disapprove of her being so emotional over Monty’s execution. She could not let him see her like this.</p><p>      She did look a fright, her blonde hair tangled and wavy, her blue eyes brimming with tears, her lips an apple, almost bloody red color, her face pale. Her hands trembled as she furiously wiped at her eyes, trying to stop the tears. She took a deep breath, then another. </p><p>      Lionel’s footsteps rebounded down the marble stairs, and she swallowed her despair and grief deep down.  Her breathing became even and calm. She had always been a good actress, but she had never perfected the art until she had gotten married. Her entire marriage to Lionel was simply an act to her, a part she had to play, for he wanted her to be a good dutiful wife and she was anything but. </p><p>     Glancing back at the mirror, she saw that her reflection had now changed. A calm demeanor now stared back at her, though her lips still trembled and upon close inspection, one could see the indent marks on her lower lip from her teeth. She doubted Lionel would look that close.</p><p>    “You’re up early,” his voice made her flinch slightly. She turned around to greet him, forcing a small, small smile on her face.</p><p>    “Yes, I didn’t sleep very well.”</p><p>     He frowned. Frowning made him look even older than he was. She resisted the urge to scowl, for everything he did these past few weeks seemed to grate on her nerves. </p><p>     “I have a meeting in Newmarket today, I shall be back later this evening.”</p><p>     She supposed he was expecting a reply and when she didn’t say anything, for she did not know what to say, he came over towards her. A hand gripped her waist, his lips at her ear.</p><p>     “I expect you shall behave accordingly, as befits a wife of your station.”</p><p>     She swallowed hard. Suddenly she was so tired, so very tired and so very aggravated with him. The tiredness seemed to seep into her bones at that moment.. Always trying to control her, keeping her weight at his ideal number. She felt like a bird in a gilded cage.  </p><p>     She tried to pull away from him, but his grip on her waist tightened so much that she winced. </p><p>     “Do not embarrass me by becoming hysterical over that Navarro man. I shall not have it. You are my wife and my wife alone. Do not shed tears for someone else’s husband, or I shall fear for what people will think of you.”</p><p>     He posed his fear as concern for her, and she almost laughed, for he did not care about her reputation, only his own. She was sure he felt emasculated by her affections for Monty, whatever he thought they were. </p><p>    “Monty is a dear friend,” the words came out of her mouth slowly, “Am I to be so hated to show grief for a friend who shall perish untimely?”</p><p>     She turned to look at him. His jaw clenched. She hid a smirk behind a small frown, as she ducked her head, looking at her slippers.</p><p>    “Your affections for him are… unnatural for a woman wed. You are far too involved.”</p><p>     A giggle nearly escaped her lips then, for if only Lionel truly knew how involved she was with Monty, how he had taken her against Lionel’s dresser, how he had kissed every inch of her skin in Lionel’s precious motorcar when he was away on business, how Monty and Sibella had ‘christened” every room in Monty’s flat and in her own home.</p><p>    She raised her eyes to meet his, and for a moment, she was afraid he truly knew. Knew how involved she was. </p><p>    “Besides, your friendship with him has not even brought about a prospective venture for me, how am I to support dying friendships that bring in no profit towards us? Hopefully now that the Earl is disposed of, you can start turning your attention towards our marriage.”</p><p>     If anything, Monty’s death would turn her attention even further away from her marriage to Lionel. </p><p>     “When should I be expecting you home?” she asked, diverting from the conversation about Monty.</p><p>    “Around ten, I expect you to be up.” His hand left her waist, his lips pressed a kiss to her temple. </p><p>     She didn’t say anything towards that, knowing what that meant. Lionel was as obsessed with carrying on the family name through heirs as the English kings of old were. She supposed it made sense, they had been married six months with nothing to show for it, but she was young, and beautiful and did not want to resign herself to the role of housewife when in her years of prime beauty.</p><p>    He left without another word, the door slamming shut the only indication to her that he had gone.</p><p>    She relished the quiet, the mask that she had put up for his chat with her started to crumble. </p><p>    Early morning had blossomed into harsh rays of sunlight over the snow covered ground, and she dearly wished it would rain so the weather would match her mood, that the universe, or God, or whom-or whatever up there would allow her validity in her mourning towards Monty and his death.</p><p>    But the sun shone on, and she remained bitter at its light, staying inside and drawing the curtains closed to hide it.</p><p>    She refused the servants to enter her bedroom, locking it for good measure, she refused to dress, she refused to do anything. For if she was not allowed to go to the hanging to see Monty one last time, she would do nothing. </p><p>    She was sure Lionel would disapprove of her self-instituted solitary confinement, but she did not care.</p><p>    She cried, and cried, and cried until her chest felt hollow and the sun’s rays finally fell away, allowing the cover of night to make her forget that this day ever happened. </p><p>    At ten, she heard Lionel rapping at her door, calling her name, but she did not open the door to him.  He called and knocked until he got tired and frustrated and eventually gave up.</p><p>    Sleep finally took her then, and in her dreams Monty was beside her, stroking her hair and kissing her lips softly.</p><p>    His smile warmed her heart, and it was only when she woke in the morning that her heart felt cold and hollow once more, for she realized that he was now truly gone forever.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whoops, Monty's dead. Don't fret everyone, Phoebella is coming.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Numb As The Winter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Three: Numb as the Winter</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>          It was with only a little regret that Sibella admitted to forgetting her promise to Monty in the week after his death. She could not bring herself to call upon Phoebe D’ysquith, nor even send a message of condolences towards her. </p><p>         She had not made a single attempt to connect with the other woman, Sibella being too immersed in her own grief to reach out to Phoebe.</p><p>         Each day passed without much happening. Her days were filled with an empty silence, while her nights were filled with Lionel’s touches until he grew tired of their marital duties and fell asleep. Sibella, however, remained awake. Nights were the worst concerning her grief for Monty. When left alone, lying in the bed, she thought of the countless times when Monty had laid beside her, his arms around her, stroking her hair or her shoulder, and the pain of losing him was so great. Sibella eventually fell into a deep sleep.</p><p>         She had not gone to the funeral. Lionel had been insistent on that, and she found that she had no way to manipulate him into thinking otherwise. News of it had come from the papers, well, what news she could read before Lionel saw her glancing at the articles about Monty’s funeral before he snatched it from her grasp and threw it into the fire.</p><p>          The maids were of little help as well. The whole lot of them, maids and footmen, acted as if she wasn’t even there, refused to even look at her with sympathy. Their lack of loyalty was not lost on Sibella, she knew they were only there for a job, not for her, not for her husband. It was so different from the way that the servants at Highhurst acted. They seemed genuinely attached to their employers, but these lot would change their tune as quickly as the wind changed direction.</p><p>           And so, Sibella was left with her grief alone. She had no one to turn to. </p><p>           She tried to write to Grahame, a half written letter sat on her desk for days, but she found that she could not express her grief even to him, her own brother who had called Monty a dear friend. Her parents had but distanced themselves from the memory of Monty, as if he had never existed, as if he had never entered into their home numerous times with the intention of wooing and marrying their youngest daughter. </p><p>           It seemed as though Sibella, and Sibella alone, was preserving Monty’s memory.</p><p>          The exception of course, was Phoebe, but Sibella was not in the state of mind nor the state of civility to speak with her right now.</p><p>          She knew that speaking to Phoebe about Monty might help her heal, but Sibella wasn’t about to go to the woman who had married Monty to find solace in her words, all the while feigning an innocent friendship with her deceased husband.</p><p>          Sibella was not sure she could manage it, that she could lie and conceal her feelings for Monty when talking to Phoebe.</p><p>          It had been hard enough feigning a forced smile for Lionel these days. She mostly whispered lies to him, saying she had a headache, or that she did not feel well, when truly she felt as if the world was collapsing in around her.  Her grief was so much, she knew that Lionel could see it. He saw it and hated her even more for it. </p><p>          She hated herself for it too. She had always prided herself on concealing her emotions, on being cold and cruel, for if she was cold and cruel no one could hurt her. Monty was ever the exception to this, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, that her grief was so harsh, but it surprised her all the same.</p><p>          She hated that she wore her emotions so plainly on her sleeve these days, that Lionel could so easily see how much Monty’s death had affected her. Sibella felt as if everyone knew her secret, that the servants, the cook, the people passing by in the street knew that she had been in love with Monty, that she had been his mistress because she made her grief so plain for all of them to see.</p><p>          But perhaps, perhaps they were not looking at her.</p><p>          One could expect that during this time, all thoughts would be on Monty’s grieving widow, and that brought her at least some comfort. That if only her husband and her household suspected, that would lessen the damage. </p><p>          Her throat became restricted when she thought of the fact that Monty’s funeral had taken place and she had not been there to mourn him.  It had been a whole week since the aforementioned event, and she had been wrestling with her grief and her pain. </p><p>          Tears bloomed in her eyes every-time she thought of it, for how could she not cry when thinking of Monty’s cold body in some metal casket under the ground? The thought of it made her sick, of how his skin would rot, his hair would fade, nothing left but his bones. She shuddered and suppressed a sob at the same time. No, no she could not think like that. Such thoughts were too gruesome, too macabre. If Monty were still alive, he’d scold her for being so indelicate, for being so vulgar and horrifying.</p><p>          Sibella’s fingers tapped on her leg, the pads of her fingers feeling the smooth silk of her dress and the sensation brought her a little comfort. </p><p>          The door opened then, a maid appearing at the threshold. </p><p>          Sibella glanced up at her from her boudoir, turning around in the chair. </p><p>         “What is it?” she asked, forgoing names because for goodness sake in the past six months they had gone through more servants than she could count, nevertheless remember any of their names. </p><p>         This girl was pretty though. Pretty and young, with red hair cut into a shoulder length bob that she usually wore in a tight bun. Dark eyes illuminated a pale complexion. </p><p>         Amelia, was it? Adele? Anne?</p><p>         “Lady Sitwell has asked you to accompany her for a dinner,” the girl said in a quiet tone.</p><p>         Sibella frowned. Lionel had been incessant on her moving on with her life, now that Monty was dead, by arranging these dinners with various members of the upper class. She had refused every last one of them in the past week.</p><p>        “Please tell her that I must decline. I’m feeling quite unwell.”</p><p>        The girl nodded, curtseying and then all but fleeing from her presence, the door shutting behind her.</p><p>        Sibella was grateful for the silence, but annoyed at Lionel’s apparent intervention. She felt cornered by him at every turn, after the marriage he had become controlling over the most ridiculous of things. Her weight, for one, although Sibella always prided herself of her slender build, Lionel refused for her to even gain an ounce lest he complain about it. She found his comments about her appearance to be so discouraging that she had fallen out of the habit of eating most things, although the discouragement had turned into spite once Monty found out and Sibella found that being spiteful was more productive than being coerced with whatever Lionel had said. </p><p>       She found herself hungry in that moment, her stomach growling quietly. </p><p>       Briefly, she thought of ringing the girl back, to bring her some tea or something, but the thought faded as quickly as it had appeared. No, she would not bother the servants, Sibella was not that helpless.</p><p>      She rummaged through her drawers, finding this and that before laying eyes on what she had been looking for.</p><p>       The delicate pink wrapping paper around the box was quickly removed with her nimble fingers, and she lifted the top of the box.</p><p>       A warm smile spread across her face, she remembered when Monty gave this to her. It had been after one of their trysts, he had left the box on the bed for her in the early morning when he had to be away at work. It was a medium sized box, not hugely expensive, but considering it had to be imported from Belgium, Sibella was appreciative nonetheless. She had eaten about half the box that day before Monty came back to his flat and they had resumed their previous activities, the chocolates forgotten and packaged up for her to take home. </p><p>     The sight of the neatly wrapped chocolates half made her want to weep, half want to smile at the memory. It was a paradox of emotions, as she felt a tight smile on her face even though tears fell from her eyes. </p><p>     She half laughed, half cried, a sort of hysterical sob rising from her lips.</p><p>     Wiping the tears that fell down her cheeks, Sibella composed herself enough to unwrap one of the chocolates. Gingerly, she took a small bite, savoring the taste of the candy. </p><p>     She swallowed hard, the taste lingering in her mouth. </p><p>     For a moment she felt stupid for getting so overly emotional over some chocolate, but she resigned herself to the fact that grief manifested in its own mysterious ways. </p><p>     She took another bite, finishing off the piece of chocolate, allowing it to dissolve on her tongue, as if the sensation would keep her love for Monty alive, keep his memory alive. </p><p>     She resolved herself then and there that she would keep her promise to Monty, no matter the cost, no matter the personal repercussions. She couldn’t scar his memory by not fulfilling his last wishes. </p><p>     Still, Sibella found herself apprehensive at the thought of going to visit Countess Navarro, at facing the other woman in Monty’s life whom he had cherished so dearly. </p><p>     A meeting between the two of them was sure to be an occasion either of them would forget, but would Phoebe even see her was another question on Sibella’s mind. Would she be receptive to the idea of friendship? Surely Monty must have spoken to her before his passing, about his wish for the two of them to become friends, but would Phoebe uphold her end of the bargain?</p><p>     Sibella was not sure, but she had to try, or else the guilt would stay within her heart forever. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. This Bitter Earth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>Chapter Four: This Bitter Earth</em> </strong>
</p><p>              </p><p>       Grief had kept her away from Highhurst Castle, but it was guilt that finally persuaded her to go visit Countess Navarro.  </p><p>        It was the first time she had been out of the house in the weeks since Monty’s death. She had simply told the servants that she was going into town, left a note for Lionel, and then hailed the carriage to take her to Highhurst. </p><p>        This was the second time Sibella had laid eyes on Highhurst Castle, with its tall spires and stained glass windows. The first had been at the dinner that had resulted in Lord Adalbert’s death. She sincerely hoped that this second visit would end more pleasantly.</p><p>       She knocked on the large oak door, only knocking twice. </p><p>       Silence greeted her. </p><p>       Another few moments passed, and she knocked again, vowing that if no answer came this time, she would leave and forget the whole thing. </p><p>       But, this time, the door opened.</p><p>       An older gentleman, dressed in a butler’s jacket and tails, peered out from the entrance way.  The gilded marble staircase behind him sparkled in the early morning light that shone from the outside air.</p><p>      “Hello.'' The greeting sounded strangled in Sibella’s voice, “I’d like to pay a visit to the Countess. Is she receiving visitors?”</p><p>     The butler straightened, his mouth pressed in a firm line. He seemed kind enough, but untrustworthy about Sibella’s intentions, that was clear.</p><p>      “None have come since… well since the incident. I shall ask the Countess if she will receive you, however. If you could come with me to the drawing room,” he swung open the door, allowing her room to enter. </p><p>      Sibella crossed the threshold, stepping into the private world of the D’ysquiths. This once illustrious castle had seen better days of course, the previous Earl had left it in quite a state due to his own mental instability. It still harkened back to the days of old, with various tapestries and paintings adorning  the stone walls. Everything in the castle, however, had faded to a memory of its once famous glory.</p><p>     Knights of old stood in their rusting suits of iron, threads woven into tapestries lost their lustre and sheen, even the marble floors and stairs looked to be worn thin from constant use.</p><p>     The drawing room was much the same.  She almost felt sorrowful for the state of the castle, especially considering she knew that the Countess didn’t have the strength in her right now to keep things in tip top shape, but still. She had expected grandeur, gilded and sparkling things, and all she had seen thus far was lacklustre and drab. </p><p>    “Your name, ma’am?” The butler remained in the doorway.</p><p>     “Mrs. Holland, Sibella Holland. I was… a friend of her late husband’s,” the words constricted her throat but she managed to get them out anyhow. The butler’s eyes dipped down respectfully at the mention of the late Earl.</p><p>    “I see,” he mused quietly. “I shall be back in a moment, although I must tell you, she has refused every visitor that has come since… the event.” The man’s face paled and he gulped. “Friend and family alike, she says she will see no one. I can promise very little.”</p><p>     Sibella bit down on her lip at that. However was she supposed to uphold her promise to Monty when Phoebe refused to even see her? </p><p>     “I understand, if I am not accepted today, I shall endeavor to come again. Perhaps time shall heal her soon enough,” Sibella said quietly, more to herself than to the butler, for it seemed like she and Phoebe both needed time to heal from this unfortunate incident. After all, time did heal all wounds somewhat, but Sibella had a hard time believing what she just said. Though she knew precious little of Phoebe, what she did know was that the woman was extremely compassionate and good-natured. She doubted Phoebe would ever heal from losing Monty, much like she herself would never heal from it. </p><p>        The butler left and Sibella was alone in the quiet, dark drawing room. </p><p>       Glancing at the space around her, Sibella pondered over what life would have been like for Monty as the Earl, if he had not been so cruelly deposed. He would have settled into the castle nicely, she assumed. Monty always had a taste for finer things, even in their youth. He would naturally pine for things that were just out of his reach, her affections included, and somehow he would eventually come to have them all. </p><p>        He would have made a good Earl, a competent one, although that wasn’t saying much considering the state of the last Earl. He had a good head for numbers, a smart practicality  that was sometimes prone to fantasy but mostly grounded in reality due to Isobel’s firm teachings. The title of Earl would have suited Monty just fine. As the title of Countess would have been suited to her. </p><p>        She pictured it, just for a moment, before the pain became too much, of what her life would have been like had she married Monty instead. How she would’ve become the Countess of Highhurst in Phoebe’s absence, with Monty as the Earl. </p><p>       She’d have it all. The finery, the status, the wealth, the notoriety, on top of being in a loving marriage.</p><p>        To think that she wasted that chance on chasing after the once glorious now faded smoke dream of a motorcar. Her marriage to Lionel had been about nothing more than financial security, stability, a firm place to land on if things turned for the worse, but Sibella had opted for security over love.</p><p>       She breathed in slowly at the missed opportunity, for it was over and done with now. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall, she straightened up, her hands smoothing out the fabric of her dark red blouse that was covered by a matching corset and skirt. She had wanted to wear black, a symbol of her mourning for Monty, but she thought that that might be considered out of character and heaven forbid offensive, if she was seen to be in mourning for a man she was not married to. Not that anyone besides Lionel was paying her much mind these days. </p><p>       Still, the propriety of it all.</p><p>       She couldn’t risk a scandal. Not now, not after everything.</p><p>       Lionel would throw her out if she stepped another toe out of line. He had never said a word about it publicly, but she knew that he had highly disapproved of her dramatics over the whole Montague Navarro affair. From his ascent to Earldom right down to his fall from grace, Lionel had disapproved, although that hadn’t stopped him from trying to make connections, goodness no, Lionel was a shrewd businessman through and through. Not even the chance of a failed opportunity would stop Lionel from licking someone’s heels up until the last moment before said benefactor was strung up by their neck till death. No, her husband disapproved of her behavior, but even he could not deny her a single visit towards the Countess. He had tried to deny her everything else, a last chance with Monty, a refusal for her to go to the funeral service, surely he would not try to stop her one good deed of charity.</p><p>         She doubted he would let her come again. One visit to speak with a disgraced Countess was enough to start the whispers around London, but several visits would cause a frenzy in the upper class, and with Lionel’s political career veering to take off, he would not allow his wife to ruin his chances at glory.</p><p>       Not that Sibella really thought he would get a position in the political sphere, no, one had to have brains to move up in that climate, but she would indulge him for a time, only if such pursuits kept him occupied from other duties. </p><p>        The castle, compared to her own house in town, was spectacular. A lover of architecture, although she’d never say so out loud, the various glass scones along the walls with etched glass carvings of various mythical creatures were astounding and captivated her attention for longer than she anticipated. The deep oak bookshelves that lined the wall to her right were full to bursting, tomes of various colors and years arranged in what seemed to be some sort of organized manner, but Sibella could not distinguish as to what it was. She ran two fingers along the spines of the books as she walked along the room. The furniture consisted of two armchairs of a deep crimson color, with one of them having a side table of mahogany next to it, the other had a stack of books nearly toppling over at its base. Another small table was placed near the four window panes that overlooked a beautiful blooming garden convalescing in a conservatory. Sibella walked over to the windows, admiring the buds of the various flowers that she could see through the tainted windows of the conservatory.</p><p>       There was a ticking grandfather clock adjacent to the door that kept the time for her. </p><p>       It had been about twenty minutes or so since the butler had disappeared from the doorway. Sibella was growing less certain by the minute that Phoebe would in fact receive her, it seemed unlikely with the request taking so long.</p><p>      She did not blame the Countess. She too would not receive any visitors if she was in her position. She’d hardly get out of bed if she had been Monty’s wedded wife and the worst had occurred.</p><p>      However, the guilt that gnawed at Sibella hoped that Phoebe would accept a visit from her. If only so Monty’s voice in her head would dissipate for a while.  She was tired of feeling guilty, she was tired of attempting to uphold her promise to Monty, only because it made the pain hurt so much more.</p><p>      Monty had known what he had been asking of her when he had made this request. He had clearly been aware of the difficult position that he was putting her in by asking her to befriend his wife when she had been his mistress all along.</p><p>       She would have to fake cordiality until one of them broke away from the pleasantries, but that was only if Phoebe knew… Sibella highly doubted that she didn’t know about Monty’s affections for Sibella, try as he had to conceal them, he had made them quite plain. </p><p>      But if Phoebe was innocent of the knowledge then Sibella would have to keep up pretenses throughout this entire friendship, and that enough would be a struggle. </p><p>     The clock struck eleven on the dot, the chimes bringing her out of her reverie. Her eyes glanced at the gardens in the conservatory once more, a small rose bush was budding its crimson blooms. </p><p>     She sat in one of the armchairs, her hands perched on the arm rests until she grew too restless and stood once more to look at the items along the table that overlooked the windows.</p><p>      Her eyes scanned the table, there was a handheld mirror delicately carved in silver that looked a bit worn from the years, beautifully painted boxes meant to hold small items, a hairbrush with fine white whale bone with roses and flowers indented into the handle. All delicate things, remnants of a past gone by.</p><p>      Her youth had been similar, a thin haze of lace had covered over everything, no real hardships had occurred, but now… now in her prime, suddenly everything had fallen to bits.</p><p>       Sibella bit on her lip hard, thinking on how, at least Phoebe and herself had that in common, if nothing else besides the obvious. </p><p>       The door opened then, the butler appeared once more. Sibella turned, facing away from the windows. She glanced at the clock, it was now half past eleven. </p><p>       “I’m afraid, Mrs. Holland, that the Countess has refused your visit.”</p><p>      She had been half expecting that, but still. She let out a long sigh before answering the butler.</p><p>      “Of course, I shall respect her request for privacy at this time. Would you tell her, Mr….” she trailed off, realizing that she never got the man’s full name.</p><p>      “Gorby, ma’am,” he supplied.</p><p>      “Mr. Gorby, could you please relay my request for a visit with the Countess once more, perhaps next week might be better suited to her needs? I shall leave my place of residence, so she can contact me if she wishes.”</p><p>      Gorby nodded, shuffling about the room to find a pen and a piece of parchment. Once having found such items, he placed them in front of her on the table.</p><p>      She wrote down her address in London, and gave the paper to Mr. Gorby. The man took it and dutifully folded it up and put it in his jacket pocket.</p><p>      “Thank you, Mr. Gorby. For your hospitality and your willingness to ask the Countess to receive me, you’ve been most kind.” She smiled at him, although guilt still gnawed at her heart.</p><p>      She half thought about relaying the truth, that Monty had asked her to do this, that this was his one last request of Phoebe, but Sibella could read the room. It was obvious that Phoebe was still too deep in her grief to even consider moving on. Still, Monty’s voice, his plea, rebounded in her head as Mr. Gorby escorted her out to the entrance way. </p><p>      Unsuccessfully, she tried to convince herself that she had done all she could as she hailed the carriage to bring her home, but upon leaving the estate, she couldn’t help but feel doubt creeping into her heart.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Promises Made, Promises Kept</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>Chapter Five: Promises Made, Promises Kept</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>         The maid announced that she had a telegram. Sibella paid it no mind, for she had been receiving quite a lot of telegrams and letters lately, usually at Lionel’s bequest. As such, she slipped the unread telegram into the stack with all of the others on her nightstand. </p><p>         Her hopes had been rather dashed the other day when she had not been received by the Countess. She had been expecting at least a greeting, something to give her mind some sort of reprieve from the guilt she had been feeling as of late. But she had received nothing, no closure, just a wooden door shutting behind her.</p><p>         She wondered, darkly, how Monty would react to finding out that she had been refused, how his sweet, precious Phoebe had spurned her upon trying to make amends with her? She gathered his reaction would not be amiable, nor pleasant, but it gave her some sort of satisfaction to imagine his disappointment in Phoebe rather than in herself.</p><p>        After all, she knew that she was doing all she could.</p><p>        Or… was she?</p><p>        Admittedly, she had been spending the last few days keeping to herself, staying inside that gloriously boring house she and Lionel lived in. He was pleased with her at least, he liked it when she kept herself restrained, and she had found herself rather reclusive lately, almost as if she felt like she was caving in on herself. She had not wanted to think on it, the fact that Monty was dead, but she relented and allowed herself to consider the possibility that a part of her had died alongside him. It would, at the bare minimum, account for her feelings of emptiness. </p><p>        She unsuccessfully tried to keep herself busy, but her mind could not hold things for more than a few seconds. Needlework grew tedious, going through catalogues became boring, walking in the cold late October air was no use.</p><p>       Her thoughts, whenever they did appear, kept going back to Phoebe.</p><p>       The elusive Countess, now that her husband was dead and buried, seemed determined to bury herself with him in that estate. Not that Sibella could blame her, but still. Monty had talked of Phoebe as if she were some heroine or a princess out of a fairytale book. Perhaps grief had taken too much from her, that she was cold and calloused where she had been loving and kind. </p><p>       Briefly, Sibella recalled that dinner at Highhurst in which she met Phoebe, but she remembered nothing except a doe-eyed face with dark hair smiling at her as if nothing thrilled her more than to meet Sibella. The nauseous sensation that Sibella had felt that night resurfaced as she pondered over that encounter once more. She had come away from that meeting thinking that Miss Phoebe D’ysquith was nothing more than sugary sweetness wrapped up as an heiress of a beautiful estate. Everything about Miss D’ysquith had grated on Sibella’s nerves, and such was not just because she was the woman who was supposed to become Lady Navarro. No, Miss D’ysquith’s temperament, mannerisms, fragility, and above all, her sickeningly sweet voice all combined into some sort of perfect creature of which Sibella could never hope to be. She was everything that Sibella was not. Raging jealousy had taken her in that moment, when she had confronted Monty about completely and utterly blindsided by the announcement of his engagement to Phoebe. The heated anger had lingered between them all throughout dinner, and it made Sibella feel sick to remember that that night was the last time she saw Monty informally in public. </p><p>      But it was her encounter with Phoebe that now permeated Sibella’s mind, she could almost feel as if the scene was re-enacting itself around her, the ghosts all floating to take their places. She shivered as she sat on her chair near her boudoir, taking a moment to pull her mind away from her reverie to glance at her own reflection. </p><p>      Lionel had not said a word about it, but she could see now that losing Monty was now physically manifesting in her features. Her lips once so ruby-red and lush, where embedded with bite marks from nerves and crying, her hair and skin seemed lackluster and pale, and her eyes that usually hid a trace of sadness now featured said emotion plainly.</p><p>     For a brief moment, she wondered if this was going to be the rest of her life. If she would spend the rest of her days mourning Monty Navarro like some pathetic lovesick maiden who lost the love of their life whom they had only met once. </p><p>     A sharp intake of breath as her fingers curled into her palm, her nails digging ever so gently into her skin. She swallowed hard.</p><p>     No, no she could not do that. She could not do that to Monty’s legacy. People would surely suspect, as if they already hadn’t. And for goodness sake she couldn’t let Lionel be tipped off, Lord knew he’d go straight to the papers and file for a divorce, or worse he would say nothing and their marriage would continue. Either situation was not optimal, nor would pan out if Sibella had anything to say about it.</p><p>    Surely she must need some excitement, some interaction with other people to set her mind straight. Perhaps that was the one thing Lionel had been right about after all.</p><p>    Her eyes glanced towards the stack of telegrams and correspondences that she had been avoiding, and with a gentle hand, she reached for the first one, opening it up and scanning her eyes across the page.</p><p>    The first had been a telegram from Graham, inquiring as to how she was. He related, though he did not say openly, that he had heard from Lionel that she was suffering from some sort of emotional trauma.</p><p>     Sibella rolled her eyes at that turn of phrase, for of course her husband would deem her grief as inferior womanly emotions. Her throat turned tight at that, for if that was what he had told Grahame, she could not imagine what her parents must think of her current state. </p><p>     Perhaps Lionel was considering shutting her away somewhere, she would not put the idea past him. Any excuse in a woman’s temperament besides the one that the lovely Phoebe D’ysquith seemed to possess was deemed justifiable to send her away. Lately Sibella had not prescribed to those standards. It had been obvious to everyone, but still.</p><p>     She read the rest of Grahame’s letter, annoyed and frustrated with Lionel throughout it all. She finished it, putting it down for now, vowing to write to him tonight and tell him that she was fine, just adjusting. After all, it had only been six months into their marriage, surely one could be excused for abnormal behavior as a newlywed. </p><p>    She bit her lip whilst reaching for the next telegram, reprimanding herself to at least appear to somewhat composed when Lionel came home. </p><p>     As her eyes glanced over the returning address of this particular telegram, her heart nearly stopped.</p><p>     It simply read:</p><p>
  <em>    From the desk of Countess Phoebe D’ysquith Navarro, Highhurst Castle.</em>
</p><p>     Immediately, Sibella wondered if the maid had said anything about it to Lionel, if she had confided in him that a letter had come from the now ruined Countess. She doubted that the maid cared enough to say anything, but the suspicion remained all the same.</p><p>     With trembling fingers, she opened the telegram.</p><p>     The words on the page were written in a crisp elegant script, not unlike Sibella’s own handwriting. </p><p>         Dear Mrs. Holland,</p><p>        I am sorry to have refused your visit the other day as since the untimely death of my husband has caused me great and paramount distress. I am writing to inquire if perhaps I could invite you to tea on November 1st at 3 o’clock here at Highhurst. My late husband talked much of you, and I believe it would be beneficial to meet again for both our sakes. </p><p>        I sincerely hope that you shall forgive my rudeness the other day, and that you shall join me for tea. </p><p>        Yours,</p><p>        Countess Phoebe D’ysquith Navarro.</p><p>       Sibella read the telegram once, and then once more. But even still the words did not sink into her head until she read the words over for a third time. She wondered what in the world had made Phoebe change her mind. Perhaps she was feeling the same guilt that Sibella was feeling. Or perhaps, the halls of Highhurst were beginning to be too lonely for her to bear alone. </p><p>       Regardless, it set Sibella’s mind at ease to know that at least this one time she could fulfill her promise to Monty and see in on his wife. No matter the outcome, she could at least go to her grave knowing that she had done what Monty had asked of her.</p><p>      She retrieved a piece of parchment from inside her desk and set to writing a reply. Nothing too ornate, a simple reply that said yes, she would attend on the 1st. </p><p>      Placing the letter in the butler’s hand, she asked him if he would bring it to the post office that afternoon, which he bowed and said he would.</p><p>       The afternoon was filled with a golden sunset, as light shone in from the window, but all Sibella could think of was the meeting to come. What if Phoebe knew about her and Monty’s affair? What if she didn’t know and Sibella would have to feign ignorance? The myriad of questions that popped into her head made her feel dizzy.</p><p>       She decided to put the matter to rest by taking a light nap, hoping that the sleep would help the time pass by quicker, but when Sibella awoke, she found that not much time had passed at all.</p><p>       And so, she was still stuck. Waiting.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. First Impressions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Six: First Impressions</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>             She almost called the whole thing off, her nerves had nearly gotten the best of her in the morning hours, but she willed herself to think of Monty and so here she was at the doorstep of Highhurst.</p><p>             The same butler from before opened the door to greet her, a Mr. Gorby. She smiled politely at him as she walked in, her skirts swaying as she did so.</p><p>              Vainly, and in a childish attempt at gaining some sort of an upper hand, Sibella had dressed in one of her finest gowns. Of course, the wardrobe of a Countess could never compare with what dresses Sibella could afford on Lionel’s stingy salary, but Sibella felt that it was in her interest to look her best. </p><p>             She passed through the familiar corridor as Gorby led her to the drawing room that she had last occupied. </p><p>              The interior looked comforting this time around, seeing as she had been here before and had taken account of almost every inch of the place. As a lover of architecture, Sibella had not glossed over the details that had been carved into the bookshelves, nor had she missed the beautiful sconces in the corners of the room. </p><p>             The ceiling however, she had overlooked. As she gazed up at it, in an attempt to reorient herself, she found the painting above her to be disturbing to say the least. </p><p>             It was not a typical painting that one would expect to see on the ceiling, usually scenes on the roofs of rooms were inspirational, of heavenly things and ascent, of the favors awarded to those in heaven, but this scene… this scene was one of horror. </p><p>             A grisly scene depicted hell of some sorts, or at least that’s what Sibella could assume from what she saw, although the more she looked, the more strained her neck became. Devils adorned in black danced around those accused, the tortured souls naked and tied together as the hell flames flickered around them.</p><p>             Sibella gulped and looked back down at the carpet, bringing a hand to rub at the tension that was beginning to tighten at her neck. </p><p>             She then paced around the room, her light footsteps rebounding across the carpet. Her breath felt constricted and she found herself glancing up at the scene above her, and she could have almost sworn one of the devils grinned and looked directly at her. </p><p>            The windows overlooking the blue tinted conservatory illustrated her reflection back to her, and Sibella took the time to adjust her light curls. Her gown was jeweled modestly, not ornately like the one she had worn that evening at Highhurst when Lord Adalbert had perished. It was a dark pink color, with shimmering clear jewels alongside the bodice. Her hair had been parted in the middle, with soft curls cascading down her shoulders. She had painted her face with limited makeup, a bright lipstick to distract from the sadness in her eyes.</p><p>           Before Gorby had left, she had forgotten to ask how long she would be waiting for the Countess. Keeping her waiting was a decisive tactic, one that she had not thought Phoebe capable of, but as the minutes passed by with no one opening the door, Sibella grew restless, and was wondering if Phoebe was testing her wits.</p><p>           No, no, she should be kinder to Phoebe, after all it’s what Monty would have wanted. Perhaps the poor girl was feeling hesitant about meeting her once more, perhaps she feared Sibella more than she cared to show. Phoebe had gone through such a hardship, Sibella should not place such unjustly blame on her shoulders. </p><p>          She paced once more, becoming agitated as the minutes turned into a half an hour. </p><p>          Finally, the door opened slowly. Sibella turned from the window towards the door, straightening her posture for if it was Phoebe herself, she should look composed, even though inside she was quite wracked with nerves. </p><p>          The Countess appeared at the door, dressed in black with a faint accent of purple around the bodice of her blouse. </p><p>          Sibella inwardly cursed herself as to not wearing black, but then again, she supposed that her wearing black would have been too obvious. It had been a month or so, the public appearance of grieving had been over for those who were not connected to Monty by marriage or blood. A lack of judgment on her part, and she hoped Phoebe would not prey upon it. </p><p>          Phoebe did not say anything as she shut the door behind her, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room. </p><p>          Sibella swallowed hard, not sure of what to say either. Words bubbled at her lips, but none seemed to come out. Her chest tightened as she looked upon the woman that claimed the title of being Monty’s wedded wife. It was not jealousy that consumed her then, but something akin to pity for the woman. Try as she might to hide it, Phoebe looked devastated, Sibella knew the emotion well these past few weeks. Her face, which had been so lively and cheerful that dinner at Highhurst before her uncle had perished, was now quite gaunt and tired. Sibella noticed too that Phoebe’s hands shook slightly at her side, though she tried to hide it by clenching at her dress.</p><p>          Phoebe then looked at her, really looked at her and Sibella felt small under the scrutiny. </p><p>          “Mrs. Holland, I am grateful to you for accepting my invitation. I have not received many visitors as of late, so your company is greatly appreciated.”</p><p>          Sibella dipped into a small curtsy, as was customary. </p><p>          “I am honored to have been invited, Countess,” that was a bit of a stretch, but there was no taking it back now. Phoebe seemed to notice it too, as she let out the briefest of scoffs.</p><p>          “Not many people would be honored to visit the disgraced widow of a man committed and killed unjustly for murder, I must say your motives for coming here and insisting on seeing me have confound me.”</p><p>          “I mean no harm, Countess,” Sibella took a small step forward, “I came of my own will.”</p><p>          “But why?” Phoebe seemed genuinely confused and wanted to know the answer. The look in her eyes betrayed hurt and bewilderment, “No one besides my Aunt has come to visit me, except the press and those hounding me for my late husband’s fortune. Have you come for money, Mrs. Holland? A position perhaps? Whatever it is you seek, I daresay I have some trepidation over giving it to you, as it is only my late husband’s friendship of you that has convinced me to see you today.”</p><p>          Sibella was quiet. Phoebe’s harsh words rebounded in her ears. But what could she say? She couldn’t go on about how Monty had wanted her to do such a thing, that she was only seeing Phoebe as a last favor to him. Phoebe would figure it all out instantaneously if she did that. A hard swallow made her nearly choke on air as she tried to figure out what she was to say.</p><p>          Finally, the words came.</p><p>          “I can understand your hesitation, Countess. I can only imagine the horrible situation that you have been left behind to manage, and that many people might think of taking advantage of you in such a state. But I’m not here to do that, I promise you. M- Your late husband was a dear friend of mine, and I came of my own accord to merely ask how you are faring and if I could be of any help in that regard.”</p><p>          It was the most unselfish thing Sibella had ever uttered in that past few months, and it felt somewhat cleansing to think of someone else and not herself for once. Strange, but good.</p><p>          Phoebe’s face softened at that, just a bit. Sibella still felt anxious for some odd reason, as if she wasn’t sure if Phoebe really believed her, not truly anyways. She steeled herself as a precaution.</p><p>          Phoebe finally took a few steps away from the door, slowly walking towards Sibella. </p><p>          “You have no ulterior motives in coming here then?”</p><p>          “None, Countess,” Sibella replied, keeping an even gaze with her. </p><p>          A small, small brief smile appeared on Phoebe’s face then as she reached where Sibella was standing.</p><p>          She reached out, taking Sibella’s hands in her own. The sensation felt strange, here she was holding hands with the woman who had been given everything that she had ever wanted, the woman who had been Monty’s lawful and wedded wife. A few months ago, Sibella had complained to Monty about despising the poor girl, that she hated the fact that he was going to marry her, that she had forbidden herself to ever speak to him again if he did marry her. Now, Sibella and Phoebe were left here, alone, while Monty was rotting away in a cold grave.</p><p>          “I am sorry for my rude behavior, Mrs. Holland. Circumstances have made me rather wary of others at the moment, so many people in this county have no care for how I’m feeling and are only interested in themselves and what they can profit off of me. I do hope you don’t take my recent demeanor as wholly emblematic of my character.”</p><p>          Sibella glanced at Phoebe’s hands intertwined in hers. The Countess had a firm grip, not crushing but steady. She nearly paled at seeing Phoebe’s wedding ring still on her left finger, the shimmering diamond a painful reminder of who exactly she was speaking to right now. Monty’s wife. </p><p>          “You have no reason to apologize, Countess. You have every right to be wary, although I am sorry such circumstances have distressed you so. I do hope my offer of friendship can be accepted; I believe it would be good for both of us.”</p><p>          Phoebe’s hands squeezed on top of hers, and Sibella let a small smile appear on her face, although it was more of a grimace on her part. She was starting to wonder what in the world she had gotten herself into. Yes, yes, she had promised Monty to look in on Phoebe, but the poor dear seemed to be grasping at any sign of kindness anyone showed her and clinging to it for dear life. Sibella couldn’t keep this friendship afloat and her marriage to Lionel at the same time. It would be too much. </p><p>          Nevertheless, she was forced to hide her feelings as Phoebe led her to the armchairs in the room. She sat in a blue chair while Sibella perched herself on top of a maroon chair. Phoebe rang a little silver bell that had been placed on a small table near the chair, and soon enough Gorby came rushing in.</p><p>          “Madam?” he asked, bowing.</p><p>          “Mrs. Holland and I would like some tea, please.”</p><p>          “Right away, madam.” And he left as quickly as he had appeared. </p><p>          Once the door was shut, Phoebe turned back to her with a polite smile. Sibella considered herself a bit confused. Now it seemed as though Phoebe was all smiles for her when fifteen minutes ago, she had been accusatory and angry. Perhaps this was grief. Needless to say, the switch in temperaments had struck Sibella as odd, but she knew better to say anything. Instead, Sibella stuck a small smile on her face.</p><p>          “Now, if we are to be friends as you say, I insist that you call me Phoebe. The title of Countess is quite stuffy and uppity if I do say so myself, and I would so very much like us to be friends, Sibella.”</p><p>          Sibella unknowingly raised an eyebrow at that, and Phoebe gave out a half laugh.</p><p>          “You must think me incredibly forward to suggest such things,” her face turned slightly red, “I am not a conventional Countess, as I suppose I’m not a conventional lady.”</p><p>          “You seem to play the part well,” she wanted to add the girl’s name to the end of the sentence, but it felt wrong for some reason. She felt like it was breaching on some sort of intimacy that they had not yet reached. Besides, hearing her own Christian name said so openly had caused her to flinch slightly, for it brought back memories of Monty whispering her name in her ear in between kissing her. </p><p>          She wondered how many times Monty had called this woman in front of her by her Christian name, whispering Phoebe into her ear, if she felt the same weird breach of intimacy at the name-calling. </p><p>          The arrival of the tea brought Sibella out of her thoughts, the door opening and Mr. Gorby hustling in to place the platter of tea and teacups on the table near Phoebe. </p><p>          “Shall I pour, madam?” he asked, but Phoebe waved a hand quickly, “No, no. That’s all, Gorby. Thank you.”</p><p>          Gorby nodded, backing out the room and closing the door once more. The resounding silence echoed within Sibella’s ears, and she watched quietly as Phoebe poured the tea into two cups. Her fingers shook slightly against the fine white china, but the polite smile that had appeared on her face beforehand remained. </p><p>          Phoebe then handed a cup to Sibella, who accepted it with a small smile. The warmth from the tea felt comforting against her hands, a familiar sensation that was welcoming to her. </p><p>          “How long did you know my late husband?”</p><p>          Sibella nearly dropped her entire teacup into her lap at the mention of Monty. True, neither of them had actually said his name out loud yet, God knows Sibella would probably break down if she said his name out loud ever again, but for Phoebe to bring him up so casually like this was jarring. </p><p>          Phoebe seemed to sense this, for her face colored once more as she lifted her teacup to her lips. She took a small sip. </p><p>          “I’m sorry if I have overstepped, it’s just… I haven’t been able to talk about him with anyone lately. Auntie only met him once, and everyone else is…” Phoebe trailed off, her eyes suddenly turning glossy. Her bottom lip started to tremble, and she rushed to put her teacup down on the table. </p><p>          Sibella was startled to say the least. She too put aside her teacup but was unsure of what to do to help the other woman. </p><p>          Phoebe pressed a hand to her chest as she breathed in heavily, a few stray tears falling from her eyes.</p><p>          However, as quickly as it had come on, Phoebe seemed to regain composure of herself. She wiped delicate fingers at her eyes and pressed her other hand over her mouth as if to calm herself. After a few tense moments, a trembling hand reached for her tea again. She sipped on it quietly, letting her hand fall away from her mouth as she did so in order to tug on her plaited hair for a moment. </p><p>          Sibella felt as if she too could finally breathe now that Phoebe had calmed down. The silence, however, was deafening, Sibella felt as though she couldn’t, no that she shouldn’t look at Phoebe directly. </p><p>          “I- I am sorry for that indiscretion, Mrs. Holland,” stammered Phoebe, forgoing the casualty that had encompassed the visit earlier. “I fear my grief is still very much ongoing. Please forgive me.”</p><p>          “There’s nothing to forgive, Countess. Your grief is absolutely understandable. I am sorry to have caused you such grief in coming here. Perhaps we should reschedule this for another time and-”</p><p>          “No, no,” protested Phoebe, setting down her cup and reaching for Sibella’s hands once more. “I wish to still talk to you, if you don’t mind. You are the only person I can talk to about him. I have no one left, Mrs. Holland. No one.” Her desperate plea made Sibella feel inwardly uncomfortable. It was eerily reminiscent of what Monty had said in the prison cell. A small shudder went through her and she tried to hide it by straightening her posture in the chair.</p><p>          “You must feel similarly,” Phoebe continued, “You who knew my husband from his childhood must feel so lonely now, much as I do.”</p><p>          Sibella’s mouth felt dry.</p><p>          “I do miss him rather terribly; I can understand your plight.”</p><p>          Phoebe’s eyes shone with tears and gave Sibella a watery smile. </p><p>          “Thank you, Mrs. Holland, truly.”</p><p>          Sibella gave her a smile in return. Ever one to avoid awkward displays of emotion, Sibella quickly changed the subject. “Now, shall we finish our tea? Perhaps you could show me the gardens afterwards? I was admiring them while I was awaiting your arrival. They’re lovely, did you plant them yourself?”</p><p>          Phoebe’s face brightened and she let go of Sibella’s hands in order to grasp her teacup.</p><p>          “I did yes,” Phoebe glanced out of the window at the mid-afternoon sun. “It’s a lovely arrangement of flowers, I’d love to show you around the conservatory if you’d like.” A true, genuine smile appeared on Phoebe’s face.</p><p>          Sibella took that moment to admire her. How Phoebe looked now was vastly different than how she had looked that night at Highhurst. Her face, though now painted with a smile as she rattled on about the various flowers that were blooming in her gardens, seemed sad. Her dark eyes held the same shade of sadness that Sibella knew all too well. She was certainly dressed like a Countess, that ornate black gown with accents of purple looked royal as well as superior in style to Sibella’s own dress. Her dark brunette hair was pulled back into a simple plait. Her features were petite, as was her stature as Sibella was a good deal taller than her. Sibella only realized that Phoebe had stopped talking as an apology from Phoebe brought her back into the moment.</p><p>          “Most people hate to hear me ramble on so about my gardens. I sincerely hope I didn’t bore you on the subject.”</p><p>          Sibella plastered a smile on her face, shaking her head, “Not at all, Countess. I have little knowledge of flowers, so your words were quite illuminating on the subject.”</p><p>          Phoebe smiled. She took another few sips of her tea before speaking again.</p><p>          “What occupies your time, nowadays, Mrs. Holland?”</p><p>          Ah, so they had both slipped back into formalities once more. Sibella had figured as such, she knew that calling each other by their Christian names would dissolve just as quickly as it had begun. And so, they had slipped back into the familiar formalities that constrained them both.</p><p>          Sibella took her time before answering. </p><p>          “Not much, Mr. Holland is usually out on business. I spend my days answering letters or shopping, mostly trivial things, I admit.”</p><p>Phoebe hummed absentmindedly. “But don’t you read? Or have some sort of hobby for yourself?”</p><p>          Sibella was startled by the question, for no one had ever asked her that before. No one had ever dared to care about what she wanted or liked. Well, no one besides Monty, but even then, it had all been superficial. Of course, Monty had known her, known her more intimately than anyone else had ever had, but even still she had kept her walls up around even him. </p><p>          “I guess not.”</p><p>          Phoebe perked up at that. </p><p>          “Nothing? Nothing at all?”</p><p>          Sibella felt a pang of embarrassment, although as to why she did not know. </p><p>          “What do you do to keep yourself occupied? Besides cultivating your wonderful garden?” Sibella deflected the question.</p><p>          She watched as Phoebe seemed to sit up straighter. </p><p>          “I’m quite an avid reader, I always was. Shakespeare’s sonnets are a particular favorite of mine. The sonnets and the classic plays, of course.”</p><p>          “I wish I had developed such a taste for literature at a young age, I confess my youth was spent with myself consumed in my own vanity,” Sibella laughed lightly, the truth of her youth was not so much changed from that of her present. Except now she could call herself a married woman, instead of a silly little girl.</p><p>           “Vanity does so often consume our youth, does it not?” It was a wry remark on the Countess’ part, it showed she still had some bit of humor to her, some bit of personality rather than the mindless drones that Lionel was always forcing her to be introduced with.</p><p>           “I’m sure your youth was far more interesting than my own.” </p><p>            The Countess blinked, “Oh, on the contrary, my youth was rather solitary besides the company of my brother, Henry. My parents liked to keep themselves busy. They were unusually generous for people of their standings, they used to travel up and down the countryside setting up orphanages for children who had nowhere else to go, donating to various charities, attending an array of banquets in order to enlist their fellow man in helping others. They weren’t often home, if they did come back this way, we would spend a few days at the house by the lake, but Henry and I were mostly left to the company of the governesses and servants.”</p><p>            “That seems like a rather lonely childhood,” the words slipped out of her mouth before Sibella could stop them, for as soon as she said them, she realized how indelicate they were.</p><p>             Mouth agape, she tried to make a hasty apology, but Phoebe waved it away.</p><p>            “You’re entirely correct, Mrs. Holland. It was lonely, but I had my brother, and my books.” She paused, her hands now in her lap, fidgeting, “They made me feel a little less alone, and besides, how could I complain when my parent’s deeds were bringing so much joy and happiness to others? I had people to look after me, people to care for me when these people had no one.” The hands stopped moving.</p><p>           Sibella was not quite sure what to say to that. Phoebe being so unflinchingly selfless, even in the face of the personal abandonment by her family in order to serve others was saintly. Sibella had never done anything like that, had never rationalized her parent’s abandonment of her, instead harbored a cold resentment and anger towards them and manipulated them both to her advantage. </p><p>          “That’s very generous of you, Countess.”</p><p>          Phoebe gave her a half smile.</p><p>          “Being kind to others is the best thing one can be in this world, no matter the personal cost.”</p><p>          Biting her lip hard, Sibella tried to think of a quick conversation topic, something that would evidently lighten the mood.</p><p>          “Have you been to the theatre to see a Shakespeare play?” she asked, even though she herself had not. Lionel preferred to sit through long symphonies and programs of music rather than be entertained by acting on a stage.</p><p>          Phoebe brightened at that, color returning to her cheeks.</p><p>          “I have, yes. Henry took me to a production of King Lear a few years ago, and Aunt Eugenia and I saw Romeo and Juliet for my birthday a while back.”</p><p>          “That sounds wonderful.”</p><p>          Phoebe smiled, “It was very nice, I always love to see Shakespeare’s words acted out on a stage. </p><p>          “Perhaps I shall entreat Mr. Holland to go to the theatre some night, and then I could share in your enjoyment of Shakespeare’s work.”</p><p>          A knock at the door interrupted them, and Sibella was grateful for she was running out of topics to divulge upon with the Countess. Gorby opened it.</p><p>          “Your Lady Aunt, madam, wishes to see you. She’s waiting in the parlor room.”</p><p>          “I shall be there in a moment,” Phoebe said, “I wish to say goodbye to Mrs. Holland.”</p><p>          Gorby nodded, bowing to them both before shutting the door behind him.</p><p>          Sibella settled her teacup down on the small table beside her chair. Phoebe stood first, and Sibella followed, smoothing out her skirts with a hand.</p><p>          “I am sorry that we should have to postpone touring the conservatory, Auntie is rather insistent when she visits.” Her face was tight, a small frown appeared.</p><p>          “Perhaps I could come again, some other time,” the words slipped out of Sibella’s mouth before she could register what she just committed herself to do. Her mind reeled at the implications, that she had just asked to see Phoebe once more. </p><p>          Phoebe smiled, truly at that.</p><p>          “I would be honored, Mrs. Holland. Your company is most enjoyable.”</p><p>          Sibella forced a smile on her face, fake though it was, she had to put up some sort of facade for the other woman. </p><p>          “Thank you for the tea,” Sibella said politely, “I shall leave you to your Aunt, Countess.”</p><p>          She turned to leave, to head towards the door, but then Phoebe called out to her.</p><p>          “Sibella!” The use of her Christian name turned Sibella right around, half bewildered, half shocked. They both had slipped back into the formalities of society so soon into their conversation and for Phoebe to now use her Christian name once more confused Sibella.</p><p>          She glanced at Phoebe expectantly.</p><p>          “I- I just wanted to thank you for coming to visit me, truly. I know that Monty’s crimes have placed a stain upon my reputation and that coming here is a great personal risk towards yourself and your husband, but I simply wanted to express my sincere gratitude. Thank you for coming today. Talking to you has been the first time in weeks I’ve felt most like myself.”</p><p>          The risk of a scandal and of her own reputation seemed small in that moment. Sibella almost felt humbled by Phoebe’s admission of sincere gratitude. She felt Monty’s plea in her ear, as if he was thanking her as well for visiting Phoebe.</p><p>          “You are most welcome, Phoebe,” Sibella deliberately used the Countess’s Christian name, “A wife should not be blamed for the deeds of one’s husband. I could never fault you for what he supposedly did. I shall await your telegram for my next visit.”</p><p>          With that, she left the drawing room with one more glance towards Phoebe, her heart feeling light and the guilt alleviated from her conscience.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. An Assessment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Seven: An Assessment</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>         She came home to Lionel in a foul mood.</p>
<p>         “Where were you today?” he asked, never lifting his eyes from his evening newspaper, one leg crossed over the other in his leather chair. Sibella glanced at her reflection in the silver mirror in the hallway, taking off her earrings delicately. </p>
<p>          She hummed in response to the question.</p>
<p>         “Driver said you went out. Where did you go?”</p>
<p>          Sibella stole a glance back at him. He was still reading the paper, feigning an air of relaxation although every bone in his body was tense.</p>
<p>         “To town,” she half-lied, turning back to her own reflection, for it was easier to lie to herself than it was to lie to him. “A friend was in, I went to visit.”</p>
<p>          The paper fell from his face halfway. He looked at her now, she saw from the mirror. His jaw tensed.</p>
<p>         “You don’t have many friends, pray may I ask, who came to town?”</p>
<p>          Her heart pounded, but she kept her face calm. She thought fast.</p>
<p>         “Lady Mary Crawley,” she said, running a hand through her curls, “she’s such a dear. You know the Crawley’s, don’t you Lionel?”</p>
<p>          He stared at her for a moment, then harrumphed, turning his attention back to his newspaper. Sibella cupped her earrings in one hand gently, the studs digging lightly into the palm of her hand, a reminder that she had to be alert when home with Lionel.</p>
<p>          She smiled slightly to herself, an inner victory. But she knew she could not keep this up, eventually Lionel would find out about her visit to the Countess. It was only a matter of time, but she could rejoice now, for she had deceived him once more.</p>
<p>          Still, it felt good to keep a secret from her husband once more. She did not know why she relished in deceiving him so, but like Monty, Phoebe would be kept secret from him until it became impossible for her to lie anymore. She had always enjoyed teasing others with snippets of the truth, she had done so to Monty countless times and it was a bad habit that she had not grown out of. </p>
<p>          Of course, there was always the slim possibility that Lionel would follow up on her claim of meeting with Mary Crawley, and her lie would be found out. He never cared to look that closely, however, so Sibella never really fretted about him finding things out. </p>
<p>          The fact, however, that he had taken notice that she had gone out at all was something she would have to be careful of. She made a mental note to herself as she turned away from the mirror, the diamond studs in her palm, running her free hand through her curls once more. </p>
<p>          “Is it true that she’ll be marrying Patrick? In the coming years I assume?” </p>
<p>          Sibella nodded, not phased that Lionel so quickly turned the conversation back to their social sphere, after all, it was the one subject they both were well versed in and could actually communicate in.</p>
<p>          “So she says. He is to inherit after all, even though he is not the heir.”</p>
<p>          “Hm, you would think with Robert’s stock that he would have been fortunate enough to have at least one heir. Three girls, however, is quite unfortunate.” He flicked over a page of the newspaper.</p>
<p>          “Are you so severe on the female sex? Patrick is a cousin, still related, still family. Mary is practical, she should inherit as the eldest, if the laws could be changed.”</p>
<p>          “Downton deserves a man at the helm, much like other households do. You woman folk can be practical, yes, but being in charge of a household is a man’s job.”</p>
<p>          “If you say so,” Sibella murmured, not wanting to challenge him on that. She had to be careful now, if her visit to Phoebe was revealed to Lionel, she would be in a world of trouble, trouble and scandal. She had to pick and choose her battles.</p>
<p>          She pressed the studs into her palm harder.</p>
<p>          “I think I’ll retire to bed, I’m rather tired after my outing.”</p>
<p>          He nodded as another page of the newspaper turned.</p>
<p>          Sibella went to bed without a disturbance from him, and felt as if she had gotten away with a terrible, terrible deed by concealing her visit to Phoebe from him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>          Phoebe waited another two weeks before sending an invitation to Sibella for a luncheon. Sibella was grateful for the delay, for it gave her time to mull over what on earth she had done by accepting Phoebe’s proposal of friendship through this invitation to lunch. </p>
<p>          It was madness. It would certainly cause social upheaval if anyone in their sphere caught wind of it. One visit was suspect enough, one could be excused as social politeness, but repeated visits would be deeply frowned upon. As such, Sibella spent the two weeks waiting for Phoebe’s invitation by trying to stay within Lionel’s good graces. </p>
<p>          She played the part of the dutiful wife well, a little too well in fact, for Lionel sometimes looked at her as if he did not recognize her at all. She did not wince when he grabbed her waist just a bit too tightly, she did not complain or combat him when he loudly reminded her that she was to have no dessert, nor did she try to feign a headache or other such malady in order to delay their marital duties. For those two weeks leading up to the arrival of Phoebe’s telegram, Sibella Holland was the perfect wife. </p>
<p>          Unbeknownst to Lionel however, Sibella did take up writing letters during the day while he was at work, particularly working hard on a letter to Grahame. The half written mess that had been scribbled out a few weeks ago was burned, and a new piece of parchment was laid out fresh on Monday that she continuously worked on throughout the week. </p>
<p>         The letter read as such;</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Dearest Grahame,</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve received your latest letter, and I am writing to say that I am adequately well, considering the circumstances. Lionel’s word choice of my “emotional trauma” becomes meaningless once you remember that Lionel’s gambit of emotions is that of paint drying, and as such cannot be taken into account as to real emotions and feelings. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You, above everyone else, knew how close Montague and I were. His loss is immense and painful, as I’m sure you well know.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I recently visited his widow, Phoebe D’ysquith. Do not roll your eyes at me, Grahame, nor mock my chivalrous action, for my intent and heart were true in going to see her. I had only met her once before, and I thought it only proper to pay my respects to her.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She’s an unusual woman. I say that in the nicest of meanings. Peculiar, for she seems to be a combination of a myriad of things and yet is able to balance them all out within herself. She is selfless and exceedingly kind, nauseatingly so. Yet when I went to greet her, until she realized I was not there to profit off of her, she was callous and cold. I gather it is the circumstances that have her alternate between her emotions. Grief, after all, is exhausting, and has one bitter and angry and then sentimental the next. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Regardless, Phoebe is closed off to the world, and yet at the same time, an open book. She was selective of the information she gave me, but what little she could, she did. She is entirely the opposite of me in nature and temperament. Yes, I am able to acknowledge my own faults and shortcomings, something that even you have failed to do so even after your years of studying.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Speaking of which, you two would get along. She’s an avid reader of literature, her collection of books is stacked wherever space is available, I’ve never seen so many books before in my life.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The castle itself, however, is in a decaying state of disrepair, which is quite upsetting. The tapestries are thread-bare and worn, the carpets dirty, and there is an air of mildew coming from up above. How I wish I could have seen it in its glory, to have it restored. You know how dearly I appreciate castles properly done up and decorated. As the home of an illustrious family, one would think that finances would be kept in order to keep the estate looking as grand as ever. The family must have fallen on very hard times, indeed.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>However, I can already hear you in the back of my head, asking the one question that I have failed to answer as of yet: shall I visit Phoebe again?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I agreed to an afternoon of tea, unbeknownst to Lionel. I know, I know what you shall say, that he is dead and gone and that his widow is none of my concern, but Grahame, I find her company quite nice. However peculiar or odd she does appear to be, she is generously kind and very appreciative of myself going to visit her. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Lionel shall throw a fit. Or simply declare me, as what did you call it, emotionally traumatized?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Truly I do not care. He cannot stop me. He cannot stop the wind or the seas, god forbid my one good deed of charity. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I trust your studies are going well enough. Please do write soon again, I miss you terribly. Perhaps for Christmas you’re to come home instead of traversing to the nearest pub and inn in Oxford this time? Dealing with the family is never dull when you’re there. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>All my love to you.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Yours, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Sibella</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>       Once she deemed the letter satisfactory at some point in the afternoon on Friday, she told the butler to bring it to the post at once. </p>
<p>       The next Tuesday brought Phoebe’s invitation. Written out on the same piece of parchment that her other invitation was elegantly scripted on, it simply asked her to come to tea and luncheon on the 16th.  She accepted readily, and with a somewhat genuine smile sent off the reply to the post that afternoon.</p>
<p>       She was not sure of what else awaited for her in that castle during her upcoming visit, but she garnered herself somewhat eager as to what possibilities could be in her future.</p>
<p>       After all, perhaps her acquaintanceship with the Countess would come in handy in the near future, that her husband would see it as a credit to her skill in having cultivated such a friendship early on? She did not think that that would happen, but she could hope. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Warmth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Eight: Warmth</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>          No amount of heat radiating from the fireplace could ever shake the mid-November chill that had Sibella’s bones within their grasp. She kept it secret, the fact that she was frozen to the bone, as Mr. Gorby had gone ahead and bolstered the fire as much as he could have, before leaving Sibella and Phoebe to their usual pleasantries in the drawing room once more.</p><p>          She had not noticed the small fireplace before, it had been hidden away, carved into the middle bookstand, with the carvings around it made to look like the spines of books. Although they all were colored a deep mahogany, Sibella had misjudged them as various tomes, and as the fireplace lay near her feet with no evidence of burnt wood or smoke emitting from it, she had forgotten it entirely.</p><p>          “A curious thing, your fireplace.” she remarked quietly as her fingers grasped at her warm cup of tea, “I mistook it for another stack of books upon my first arrival here.”</p><p>          Phoebe grinned, giggling a bit as she looked at the roaring fire that was ensconced around her precious books. </p><p>          “It’s an old family secret, that fireplace. Someone long ago carved it within the castle, we always assumed it was some craftsman or other,” she shifted her weight in the armchair, pulling her black shawl around her thin shoulders, “but one day Henry and I were hiding in here and we decided to investigate it, finding the name Henry D’ysquith on it, the third. To this day, I do not know how the rest of the bookcase does not light up in flames, a mystery that shall not be solved anytime soon, I suspect.”</p><p>          “Hm, how interesting,” Sibella murmured and then she took a sip of her tea to warm her throat.</p><p>          They had been chatting away with the usual pleasantries for nearly a half an hour now. The weather, which was a dark and drizzling cold November day, needed not be remarked upon, for both women could plainly see the grey and cloudy sky from the window panes of the drawing room. So instead, Sibella had turned to architecture, her secret admiration and love.</p><p>          “It’s quite unique. I’ve always wondered if it’s hidden something, a false paneling or something like that, but then again my avid imagination always concocts some ridiculous scheme such as that now and again.”</p><p>          Sibella smiled at that, she could imagine that Phoebe would think up some fantastical reason as to what lurked behind the fireplace.</p><p>          “I have no doubt that people would want that to be the case,” Sibella stated, “people always gleam for the mysterious in life, and in particular with those well bred and well off. I find that they are always trying to find the faults, the cracks and worm their way in.”</p><p>          Phoebe sat still for a moment, glancing at Sibella most curiously. </p><p>          Sibella nearly blushed under her gaze.</p><p>          “I’ve said too much, my mouth has a habit-”</p><p>          “No, no,” Phoebe protested, “You haven’t said too much at all. In fact, that’s entirely my belief as well. It was so gladdening to hear you say such things.” She paused. “Uncle Adalbert and Aunt Eugenia used to have Visitor’s Day here at the castle every Tuesday, and they would always complain about how people wanted to see the theatrics of a castle such as this, as if we would expose its secrets and its failings to just about anyone.”</p><p>          “How very barbaric of people, to carole you and this estate for secrets.”</p><p>          Phoebe let out a peal of laughter, which took Sibella by surprise, for it sounded genuinely happy and gleeful. </p><p>          “Now you’re reminding me of Uncle Adalbert, a little. He used to loudly and often proclaim his hatred for the poor.”</p><p>          Sibella licked her lips, oh dear, there went her mouth again, saying words that could be misconstrued. Or perhaps it was her inner, vain self that was revealing itself to Phoebe. Regardless, she must make amends quickly.</p><p>          “I do hope you don’t think so poorly of me, I do not hate the poor, I simply do not understand their interest in finding faults and secrets with the upper class. Their eagerness to drag us down at the slightest hiccup is rather medieval, don’t you agree?”</p><p>          Phoebe took a delicate sip of her tea, her fingers at the hem of her shawl after her cup had been set down.</p><p>          “I try not to judge others, especially those in unfortunate situations, but yes, I gather that their sense of amusement towards our failings is rather low-brow. But then again, Shakespeare appealed to the masses in his writings about the tragedies of the upper class, perhaps watching someone fall from grace is an innate human thing that no one, regardless of class, can help bear watching nor yearning for.”</p><p>          Stunned, Sibella reached for her tea, but did not take a sip, only holding the warm tea cup in her hands, but even that warmth had now turned cold.</p><p>          “Do forgive me, Countess, I meant no offense. Merely attempting to make conversation, it’s been so long since I’ve had a proper and intellectual conversation.” A forced smile accompanied her apology.</p><p>          “None taken, Mrs. Holland. I find your conversation rather stimulating.” Phoebe leaned towards her in her chair, “You’re right to comment on the eagerness to watch us fall on behalf of the poor, they do, they’d happily see these castles burn, but those people still are people. Universal experiences bind us all together, don’t you agree?”</p><p>          Sibella found she had no retort, and as such she nodded, gaining a smile from Phoebe.</p><p>          They relaxed into their chairs, Sibella did so to calm her nerves, and she suspected Phoebe did so because she felt truly relaxed. Sibella inspected her and Phoebe’s wardrobe choices as they sat in silence for a while. She had gone with a sleeved crimson blouse and corset, for the November air was chilly, and Highhurst provided no warmth against it. The  matching skirt was long, her stockings did not provide much warmth nor protection from the bitter cold, neither did her black heels. </p><p>          Phoebe still wore black. A different variant than what she had been wearing the first time, the gown she wore now was a half sleeve, black, with purple flowers embroidered in some pattern across her blouse, skirt, and corset. The black shawl looked handmade, a gift perhaps, and she nestled into it cozily enough. Her hair was braided, sitting across her left shoulder as she nursed her tea.</p><p>          Sibella turned her attention to the roaring fire, attempting to find warmth within, letting the silence envelope them, for sometimes she found that silence was better than words. </p><p>          “Do you and Mr. Holland have plans for Christmas?” </p><p>          Still gazing into the fire, Sibella was perplexed by the question. Her stomach churned as she thought Phoebe might try and invite herself and Lionel to a Christmas party, or some sort of thing wherein her charity would be exposed to the world.</p><p>          “We shall go to his parents’ this year. We alternate every year.”</p><p>          “Oh, how lovely. Where?”</p><p>          Sibella took her eyes off of the fire, and looked at Phoebe. There was no secret motive in her eyes, no hidden agenda on her face or in her tone, just pure genuine imploration.</p><p>          Sibella eased then.</p><p>          “They recently moved to Brighton, they were in Clapham for a long time, but they moved to Brighton last spring before we got married.”</p><p>          Silence filled the air as Sibella wanted to ask the same of Phoebe, but the harsh reality of why she was here, and why she was ultimately befriending Phoebe in the first place kept the silence lingering.</p><p>          “I think I might go to the cottage this winter.” Phoebe answered her unspoken question.</p><p>          “Cottage?” Sibella took a large sip of her tea, finishing it off and setting it down on the side table, folding her hands neatly as she listened.</p><p>          “Yes,” Phoebe smiled softly, “In Salisbury. It’s not much, but Henry and I called it home for a great number of years. It’s darling in the spring, with all of my flowers and Henry’s bees. I haven’t been there… since… since all of this… but I would like to go back. I gather I should find the familiarity comforting.”</p><p>          Sibella arched an eyebrow.</p><p>          “You don’t find Highhurst inviting?” She was genuinely curious now.</p><p>          “Heavens no, I was deathly afraid of this place growing up. I only came here when forced. I can appreciate the grandeur of it all, but to call this place home would feel rather empty.”</p><p>          Phoebe perked up then, smiling.</p><p>          “Would you like to take a tour? I gather a visit to the conservatory would give us both a horrid cold in this weather. A turn about the art gallery would do nicely, don’t you think Mrs. Holland?”</p><p>          Sibella was hard pressed not to agree, and so she nodded, eager to move her limbs and feel them once more.</p><p>          The shawl wrapped around her thin frame tightly as Phoebe stood, shoes lightly clacking on the hardwood floor.</p><p>          Sibella followed her down a darkened corridor, the sky outside growing more odious by the minute, and she was grateful that they had decided to postpone their plans of going to the conservatory today.</p><p>          The hall that Phoebe led her into was richly colored by a deep blue tapestry wallpaper amidst the gilded frames of various pieces of art. A variation of portraits, landscapes, studies, and the like were all laid out in what appeared to be some sort of order. </p><p>          “The larger pieces are reserved for the second floor, the painting of the Boer Hunt for example is there. Aunt Eugenia found them too cumbersome to fit down here, but here we have mostly family portraits.”</p><p>              Sibella glanced at the portraits, the gilded plaque underneath revealing each name and family member to her. She took her time, for they were in no rush. Half of them were named Henry, others were named Patrick, George, Simeon, Ronald, Adalbert once more, a bizarrely named Ughtred, George again, Henry again, and there was the curious case of a woman who had married into the family with the surname, Gascoyne, followed by her married name of D’ysquith.</p><p>          She took in each of their faces as Phoebe rattled on to her about the various family members, now long since dead and buried. Most of them had hoarded their wealth up in this castle, had brought very little comfort to those in the village below, so much so that the family name of D’ysquith became synonymous with snobbery. They crossed from one wall of the gallery to the opposite.</p><p>          These were where the recent portraits were displayed, in between some landscape pieces that Sibella didn’t pay any particular attention. True she did love a good landscape, but there was something about looking at the human form preserved in oil paints, frozen in time, that was much more appealing to her. </p><p>          Phoebe once again rattled off names, almost as if it had become a reflex for her to recite her now dead family members in succession. Most were male. Only two Sibella could see were female, a Lady Hyacinth, and a Lady Salome, a philanthropist and actor respectively. The males all looked the same, truth be told, so did the women, but Sibella kept such an observation to herself.</p><p>          Lord Ezekial, a man of the church, was painted in his white robes. </p><p>          Lord Asquith D’ysquith Jr. was painted with a shotgun looking recently fired over his shoulder in the woods.</p><p>          Lord Asquith D’ysquith Sr. sat poised at a desk. </p><p>          A Lord Bartholomew was in the middle of an exercise.</p><p>          Lord Adalbert was perched as if  he was in the midst of the infamous Boer Hunt he so enjoyed to ramble on about.</p><p>          Phoebe stopped short as soon as they got to a painting of what Sibella could only guess was of her brother, Henry. The plaque on the bottom of the painting confirmed her suspicions.</p><p>          “Is it a true likeness?” Sibella asked into the silence, “So many times artists do not capture those we love faithfully onto their canvases.”</p><p>          Phoebe wrapped that shawl around herself tightly, and nodded.</p><p>          “He looks very cheerful, a happy fellow I take it?”</p><p>          Again, another nod.</p><p>          Sibella took her time studying him then. Bright, mischievous eyes, a cheerful smile, happy as ever, surrounded by what looked like bees. Right, Monty had mentioned something about how he had been a bee keeper, alluding of course to the tragic accident that had occurred when his bees attacked.</p><p>          “We lived together at the cottage in Salisbury, it wasn’t much, but it was home. Henry had his bees, and I my gardens and my belladonnas. I haven’t been back since Monty and I married- it’s… it’s been rather difficult.”</p><p>          “So I can imagine.”</p><p>          “Do you have siblings, Mrs. Holland?”</p><p>          “A sister and a brother, both older. Cynthia nannies for a family in London and Grahame is off studying at Oxford.”</p><p>          “Are you close?”</p><p>          Sibella shifted her weight from one foot to another, her fingers twisting around one another.</p><p>          “With Grahame yes, but I’m afraid sisters like Cynthia and myself are destined to forever be at odds with one another. She still treats me like a child, and I was… well, I was a horribly cruel child to her.” She had the grace to blush, however, Sibella did not dare meet Phoebe’s eyes. She couldn’t. Not when Phoebe had been so close with her only brother and here Sibella was, declaring herself at odds with Cynthia.</p><p>          “Grahame knew him too, in our youth,” Sibella murmured quietly, “He started out as friends with Grahame. If he comes to visit at Christmas time, I shall have to introduce you.”</p><p>          She knew she didn’t have to say his name for Phoebe to understand that she was talking about Monty. A pause filled the air.</p><p>          “I’d like that very much.”</p><p>          Sibella let out a breath that she didn’t realise she had been holding. </p><p>          “Shall we go to the next room?”</p><p>          Sibella looked at her, half laughing, “There’s more?”</p><p>          Phoebe grinned, a little color returning to her cheeks, “Of course. Castles such as this always have art hanging up on every empty space.”</p><p>          The next room was mostly filled with sprawling paintings that took up most of the wall space and various marble statues. Theatres with a crowd in attendance and performers on the stage filled one painting, while in another stood a farmer’s daughter tending to horses. The array of paintings was fascinating to Sibella, and she listened as Phoebe explained each one to her. </p><p>          “You have an interest in art, I gather?” Phoebe supposed, smiling softly as Sibella stood a bit too long at the female statue, the huntress Diana, that stood in front of them.</p><p>          Sibella smiled back, meeting her gaze. Then her eyes dropped to the floor.</p><p>          “We honeymooned in Firenze,” she said, pronouncing the city in Italian correctly, “I insisted we went to as many art galleries as we could. I find art intensely fascinating.”</p><p>          “Sculpture in particular? I’ve always been rather fond of portraits,” Phoebe indulged her. She took a turn about the sculpture, eyes surveying it.</p><p>          “Sculpture, portrait, it does not matter. Any form of medium in which an artist can make life out of nothing is endlessly fascinating to me.”</p><p>          “Does Mr. Holland think the same?” Phoebe asked innocuously. </p><p>          Sibella’s good mood instantly soured at the mention of Lionel.  Her expression dimmed. It brought back Florence.</p><p>          “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Phoebe was quick to apologize.</p><p>          “No harm done, it’s just that Lionel and I differ on what constitutes good art, that’s all…”</p><p>          Sibella took another glance at the statue, spirits instantly lifted as she looked at the minuscule details of the sandals upon Diana’s feet, the smooth line of her calves, the sharp features of her face. Art relaxed her, though she’d be hard pressed to admit it in public, but there was something about Phoebe’s presence that made Sibella comfortable. Perhaps this was what female friendship was like, she had not known the feeling in some time, most of the girls she knew were rivals not friends. </p><p>          “Should I ring for more tea? One more cup before this storm approaches?”</p><p>          Sibella turned her head to the stained glass window, which showed the storm clouds gathering quickly, turning a dark grey color. She had entirely forgotten about the upcoming storm, she had been so engrossed in the art.</p><p>          “That sounds lovely,” she smiled, determined to hide from Phoebe any sign of weakness she had shown earlier, but in her heart of hearts, Sibella knew the damage had been done.</p><p>          They returned to the drawing room then, a fresh pot of tea had been made for them and they settled back into their respective chairs nicely. </p><p>          “One of these days, I promise you shall see the conservatory,” Phoebe said laughing, “Once good weather comes our way.”</p><p>          “I don’t mind,” Sibella shrugged, “It gives me a reason to visit again.” </p><p>          She stopped, nearly stunning herself, for the statement had been genuine. Very genuine. She greatly enjoyed Phoebe’s company. A friendship with Phoebe was easier to manage than her marriage with Lionel. </p><p>          Perhaps she would become a frequent visitor at Highhurst, despite Lionel’s threats and warnings. </p><p>          A smile from Phoebe after she said that gave her the first feeling of warmth she’d had all day.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Literature</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Nine: Literature</em>
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</p><p>        Sibella found herself at Highhurst once more the following week, this time, however, Phoebe had situated them in the library. An expansive, impressive room that seemed to stretch on forever with dark mahogany bookshelves. And here Sibella had thought the drawing room had a massive collection of books!</p><p>        The long medieval doors had gilded lion knockers on them, the gold however had faded to a dull sheen. The silence that enveloped the room once those huge doors banged shut was ever so inviting to Sibella. </p><p>        The weather had once again delayed their visit to the conservatory, but Phoebe had delighted in the chance to show Sibella the library at Highhurst instead. Lanterns hung from the high ceiling in between each bookshelf, providing light for the reader below, and a mass chandelier hung above a reading area which consisted of black armchairs and a table for tea.</p><p>       “They’re alphabetized by author, placards are on the shelves to help, I have always wanted to organize it by category, but that is by far a lengthy and time consuming endeavor to pursue.”</p><p>        Sibella walked slowly, glancing at the tomes, craning her head to read the name of each author as she perused through the sections. </p><p>        “Henry used to import books from America for me all of the time. Anything I’d want, he’d get it for me.”</p><p>        “It’s quite the collection,” Sibella remarked, highly impressed.</p><p>        Phoebe smiled.</p><p>        “Are you looking for anything in particular?”</p><p>        Sibella reminded herself in that moment that she was still a guest of Phoebe’s, still the assumed friend, that Phoebe held no truth about what her real relationship with Monty was. Sibella almost felt bad for deceiving her so.</p><p>          “No, I should just like to browse around, if that’s alright, Countess.”</p><p>          Phoebe nodded and made her way to her chair, picking up a book that she had left for herself to read while Sibella looked around.</p><p>          The titles of the books appeared to her as fragments, of course she recognized some of the more well known works, but most of them went unremarked upon by herself.</p><p>          Titles such as: <em>The Iliad</em>, <em>The Odyssey</em>, works by Sappho, <em>Agamemnon</em>, <em>Medea</em>, <em>Antigone</em>, <em>The Aeneid</em>, <em>Utopia</em>, various translations of the English Bible including the Tyndale’s translation, the Geneva, the King James. The dizzying array of titles blurred before her. </p><p>         Works by Elizabeth I, poems by Thomas Wyatt the Elder, Petrarch, St. Augustine of Hippo, Christopher Marlowe, Bacon, Webster, Milton, and of course an entire shelf dedicated to Shakespeare. </p><p>         Some of the works were more contemporary, as Sibella spotted several copies of<em> Dracula</em>, <em>Carmilla</em> too, <em>The Picture of Dorian Gray</em>, <em>Little Women</em>, <em>Anna Karenina</em>, <em>War and Peace</em> and so many others.</p><p>         Sibella felt overwhelmed by all of the works she saw in that library. The collection was vast and ever expansive, and exhausting to compile through. Once she was done looking through it, she picked up a copy of the works of Sappho. </p><p>        The name sounded familiar, so she flipped through the book curiously. She stopped when a particular poem caught her eye.</p><p> </p><p>Honest, I want to die, she said to me.</p><p>She was in tears when she went away,</p><p>Said to me not once but many times:</p><p>Sappho, why must we suffer so?</p><p>It's not by choice; I don't want to leave you here.</p><p>And I , this is what I said to answer her:</p><p>Farewell. Go in peace. But remember me.</p><p>Don't ever forget how well I took care of you.</p><p>If you do, let me recall to you</p><p>All the good days we had together,</p><p>The wreaths you wore, of roses and violets</p><p>As we lay side by side, the necklaces</p><p>Woven for flowers to drape your soft shoulders,</p><p>The perfume, precious, fit for royalty</p><p>How much you used, to anoint yourself!</p><p>The soft bed (where) you would satisfy...desire...</p><p> </p><p>          Sibella’s mouth felt dry as she finished reading. She felt a blush rise up rapidly to her face, embarrassment creeping up in her body. The name of Sappho now clicked in her head, and she remembered. Sappho the Tenth Muse, the Poetess, the one who may have loved women, although scholars debated such a position. She had heard of such relationships, such women who loved other women, but she had never read anything such as this. </p><p>         She put the book down, licking her lips, wondering if Phoebe was watching her, knowing she had picked up a book of poetry by Sappho. Phoebe was not looking at her, fully engrossing in her own reading. </p><p>        She returned Sappho’s poetry back to the shelf it belonged to, and picked up some Shakespeare instead. She had not read a lot of it, only knew bits and pieces, Monty had recited some of the sonnets to her while she had playfully pretended to be bored and sick of his chivalrous and romantic antics, but she had actually enjoyed it. </p><p>        A collection of the sonnets was at hand, and Sibella began to read, attempting to forget her earlier blunder.</p><p>        She found the one that Monty had liked to recite to her, smiling softly as she did so.</p><p> </p><p>When in the chronicle of wasted time </p><p>I see descriptions of the fairest wights, </p><p>And beauty making beautiful old rhyme </p><p>In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, </p><p>Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, </p><p>Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, </p><p>I see their antique pen would have express'd </p><p>Even such a beauty as you master now. </p><p>So all their praises are but prophecies </p><p>Of this our time, all you prefiguring; </p><p>And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, </p><p>They had not skill enough your worth to sing: </p><p>For we, which now behold these present days, </p><p>Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.</p><p> </p><p>          It was comforting to read such words again, to hear them in Monty’s voice in her head once more, as if he was there, sitting next to her, whispering adoringly into her ear. So engrossed was she in hearing his voice, she half expected to see him beside her when she turned, but only the bookshelves and lanterns revealed themselves to her.</p><p>        A stone seemed to drop in her stomach, and a wave of sadness filled her just as quickly as the embarrassment had earlier. She lifted her head up from the book to find Phoebe sitting across from her, reading.</p><p>        Sibella suddenly found the silence that encompassed them both unbearable, for every moment that the silence lingered the louder and clearer Monty’s voice became in her head, and she could not bear much more of it. </p><p>        “What are you reading?” </p><p>         To her surprise, Phoebe did not appear to be angry at her for disturbing her reading. </p><p>         A warm smile appeared on her face.</p><p>         “Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott. She’s American, so some of the phrasing is a bit odd, but it’s a wonderful story. Henry bought it for me when I was younger and it’s always been one of my favorites.”</p><p>         “How nice,” remarked Sibella, wondering what it was like to genuinely receive a gift from one’s siblings. All she and Cynthia had exchanged were horrid remarks and taunts to one another, and Grahame had given her playful but sometimes cruel jabs nonetheless. </p><p>         “What is it about?”</p><p>         “Four sisters during the Civil War who live in Concord Massachusetts, there’s Jo, Meg, Beth, and Amy. Each sister is so wonderful and lovely. I think you’d like Amy the most. If you ever wanted to borrow it, all you have to do is ask.”</p><p>        “Four sisters, oh my. What a hassle,” Sibella laughed, imagining if there had been two other girls around during her childhood along with Cynthia and herself, “Girls usually end up fighting an awful lot with one another.”</p><p>        “They do, but they love each other very much as well. Their bond is one that lasts forever,” Phoebe gave her a small smile, closing the book.</p><p>        “What have you been reading?” Phoebe inquired, reaching for her cup of tea. Sibella glanced and found a cup of tea for herself by the little table next to her chair. Gorby must have brought it in at some point, she had not noticed.</p><p>        “Shakespeare. The sonnets, they’re quite lovely,” she answered.</p><p>        Phoebe’s eyes lit up at that, “Oh, aren’t they? So lovely and so wonderful. He was such a master of words and of the heart.”</p><p>        Sibella wanted to share the story of Monty, that he used to read these sonnets to her, that he had memorized them and acted them out as if on a stage, but she clamped her lips tightly. </p><p>         No. She couldn’t do that. Not now. It would raise too many questions and she had already given too much away in her past visits. No, Sibella had to be mindful of herself, especially here with Phoebe. </p><p>         So instead of speaking, she merely offered up a half-hearted smile, and took her tea in both hands.</p><p>        “Reading is such a comfort, don’t you agree?” Phoebe sighed, almost in a saddened tone.</p><p>        Sibella nodded, letting the hot tea water sit in her mouth for a moment before she swallowed and replied.</p><p>        “Quite.”</p><p>        “The rest of my family never read much, but I found much solace in it. Even in childhood. Reading the experiences of others and relating to it, and reading the words that people long ago wrote and knowing how they thought and spoke, it was almost like you knew them personally, as if reading their works kept them alive somehow.”</p><p>        “Beautifully put, Countess. Very true. Words are the way to immortality, after all,” she had remembered reading something like that once, in some book that she had picked up once in the middle of the night because she couldn’t sleep. </p><p>         Phoebe’s face brightened at that, a true, genuine smile spreading.</p><p>        “Exactly!” she squealed with a childish glee that threw Sibella for a moment. </p><p>         She returned Phoebe’s smile as a polite gesture, but Phoebe’s face began to redden. </p><p>         “I’m sorry for my outburst, it’s just that no one really understands my love for reading, how articulate you are, Mrs. Holland!” Phoebe sounded impressed, with a mixed pang of embarrassment at her obvious excitement. </p><p>         Sibella gave her another small smile, but inwardly she mused on the choice wording. Phoebe had called her Mrs. Holland once more, and she had called Phoebe Countess. Her memory recalled her first visit in which, at the very end, Phoebe had called her by her Christian name, and wondered if Phoebe would ever do so again. She guessed not, that they were doomed by society to be nothing more than polite acquaintances, that Sibella would be forever known to Phoebe as Mrs. Holland, and Phoebe towards her as Countess Navarro, Monty’s wife.</p><p>         Just then, the doors burst open, and two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels came lazily bounding into the library, making their way over to Phoebe. A maid, a Miss Shingle that Sibella recognized from that dinner at Highhurst, followed hastily after them.</p><p>         “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the dogs wanted to see you, they refused to go out for their walks.”</p><p>         Phoebe waved a hand, joyfully leaning down to pet the dogs lovingly as they came over to her, “No matter, Shingle, it’s not a problem. Mrs. Holland, you don’t mind, do you?”</p><p>         Sibella shook her head as the dogs began to yelp affectionately at Phoebe, each clamoring for attention. Miss Shingle curtseyed and left the library soon after.</p><p>         One of the dogs meandered over to where Sibella was sitting and sniffed at her for a few moments. Sibella saw that the dog by Phoebe had jumped into her lap, and she suspected that the dog at her feet wanted to do so as well so she put her tea cup down on the table. She leaned over and scratched behind its ears as the dog’s wet nose gave her fingers little kisses. Soon enough, the little dog had jumped into her lap and settled there nicely. Sibella found herself relaxed, the dog did not stir, did not bark, did not claw at her dress like some others she had experienced, it simply sat comfortably on her lap, with its head laying on its paws. </p><p>        “Do they have names?” Sibella inquired as she continuously scratched behind the dog’s ear, finding comfort in the repeated gesture. </p><p>        “This one is Donna, and that one is Bella. The belladonna is my favorite flower and when I got these loves I decided to name them after it.”</p><p>        “Have you had them long?”</p><p>         Phoebe’s face turned sad then. She swallowed as she petted at the dog in her lap. </p><p>        “No, Monty gave them to me as a wedding present.” She paused. “I came home after our wedding, after his arrest, to find them waiting here for me with a card. They were of great comfort to me then, and still are now.”</p><p>        Sibella paused in her scratching and the dog made a low whining noise. </p><p>         She licked her lips, feeling that stone drop in her stomach once more. </p><p>         Dogs for a wedding present. What a wonderful sentiment. Something for Phoebe to take care of, but for them to share together later on, had Monty not have perished so untimely.. It was a thoughtful, selfless gift. It was inexplicably Monty. </p><p>         Sibella didn’t know whether she wanted to smile or cry then. To think that Phoebe had spent her wedding night with these two dogs, crying over her husband’s arrest, it was very heartbreaking. </p><p>        “I’m sorry,” she found herself saying, her own voice wavering.</p><p>        Phoebe looked at her, mouth opened in an “o” shape, as if to protest Sibella’s own sadness. </p><p>        “It’s quite alright, please don’t feel sorry for me. I didn’t mean to make you nor myself upset,” Phoebe apologized quickly, “That was not my intention.”</p><p>        “They’re so affectionate.” Sibella was quick to change the mood in the air.</p><p>        Phoebe smiled, watery. She bent down her head to lovingly nuzzle the little dog in her lap on the nose.</p><p>        Sibella resumed her gentle scratching of the dog’s ear that laid in her own lap, musing inwardly. She was forever flummoxed with how Phoebe always quickly regained her composure whenever she faltered, how she switched back to that polite, kind demeanor after discussing such personal tragedy and heartbreak. Sibella, personally, tried to avoid discussing any of that at all costs, but she admired Phoebe’s willpower. </p><p>        “They won’t get much bigger than this, I’ve been assured. They’re lovely, happy little things, they make me feel less alone in this place.”</p><p>         Sibella could certainly understand that notion. Instead of dogs to comfort her while trapped in a loveless, boring marriage, Sibella had had Monty. </p><p>         She knew the feeling of having safety and security in such a thing, man and animal after all were quite alike, each could perish untimely and be ripped away so quickly. She wondered if Phoebe worried if these dogs would perish so soon, just like Monty had. </p><p>         No, no such thoughts were too morbid, Sibella mentally chastised herself. Phoebe would never think such things. </p><p>         “They’ve kept very quiet the other times I’ve visited, I didn’t even realize you had dogs here,” Sibella remarked, thinking back on the other times she had visited Highhurst and had not heard a single bark. </p><p>         “They usually are downstairs in the kitchens, begging for scraps and playing with the footmen, they don’t particularly like it up here, of that I don’t blame them. There is much room to run around, but not much entertainment for them.”</p><p>         Phoebe smiled softly, picking up her head and scratching the dog under the chin, to which it yelped happily. </p><p>        “Do you and Mr. Holland have any pets?”</p><p>         Sibella suppressed the urge to laugh. </p><p>         “No, Mr. Holland does not like his house to be disturbed or anything out of place, I highly doubt he’d take kindly to having dogs running around.”</p><p>         Phoebe raised an eyebrow.</p><p>         “However shall he manage when children arrive, I do wonder?”</p><p>          Sibella’s face fell, or she would assume so by Phoebe’s then horrified glance in her direction, embarrassment and self hatred mixed on her face. </p><p>          “I’m so sorry, that was quite impertinent of me to say. I have such a habit of saying things I should not,” her words were fast, her face flushed, obviously sorry for her mistake. </p><p>          “It’s alright, Countess, really. No harm done.” Sibella lied. </p><p>          She plastered a hard smile on her face, and Phoebe nodded, accepting it even though Sibella got the impression that Phoebe recognized that damage had been done. </p><p>          She did not want to talk of children. Not with Lionel, certainly. She had been planning to secretly have Monty’s child shortly after her wedding but then he had gone and gotten engaged to Phoebe, and those hopes had been dashed quite quickly. </p><p>          Children were a sore subject. Lionel detested them but needed heirs for his family name. Sibella did not mind them, sometimes thought them a nuisance and was never particularly fond of them, but she understood her duty. But being six months married to Lionel, God, even before the wedding, she had promised herself, sworn to herself that she would not under any circumstances have a child by anyone else other than Monty. A ridiculous notion, considering how events turned out, but her heart did belong to him even if she legally belonged to someone else. </p><p>          Now, she dreaded, she would have to have Lionel Holland’s child, and she did not know whether or not she could stomach such a thing. Not that she’d bear the child any ill will, heavens no, she wasn’t that wicked, but she longed for a happy, loving relationship with the father of her child, not a strained, imbalanced, loveless one. </p><p>          If indeed she did have a child, the environment in which they would grow up in, would not be one to emulate, would not inspire a great love like she had envisioned her and Monty’s life would once do. </p><p>          It all made her feel terribly sad. And terribly and stubbornly stupid for accepting Lionel’s proposal so hastily. It had only been six months since her wedding and their engagement had been three months before that, nearly a year, and yet she had been so young then. So young and foolish and horribly, horribly selfish. </p><p>          Then again, she thought as she looked at Phoebe once more, time had changed them all, not just herself. </p><p>          Phoebe had calmed down from the bright, vibrant girlish wisp of a thing Sibella had overheard in Monty’s bedroom that one night. She had settled into the title of Countess beautifully, and tragically the title of Monty’s widow even more gracefully than Sibella could have ever thought imaginable. </p><p>          Sibella pitied her. Sibella envied her. </p><p>          “I am sorry to suggest such a thing, I shouldn’t have-” Phoebe was still flushed with embarrassment, Sibella hadn’t bothered to notice, too consumed in her own thoughts. </p><p>          “It’s quite alright. Mr. Holland and I just haven’t been so…” Sibella paused, trying to figure out the right word to say, but it came out strangled regardless, “<em>blessed</em> as of late.”</p><p>          Phoebe’s lips were pinched together, and she nodded quietly, keeping her mouth shut. </p><p>          Sibella felt bad, she hadn’t meant to show such emotion at the mere mention of children, it just brought up rather horrid memories she’d rather not think of. Especially considering when Sibella had been Monty’s mistress, and Phoebe his wife. </p><p>          But Phoebe knew none of that, thank heaven. So naturally she assumed this was some sort of issue between Sibella and Lionel, and not of her own husband’s doing. How could she know that Sibella wished Monty to be the father of her children and only Monty?</p><p>          The dog in her lap, Bella, picked up its head, sensing the tension. It gave a low whine, and Sibella realized her fingers had frozen on its fur, stuck in place supposedly since Phoebe said that statement about Lionel making a fuss over dogs, then what about children?</p><p>          God, she was slipping. Societal norms and the acts she usually put on so well beforehand were now becoming unfamiliar to her and strange. She had lost her bearings completely. </p><p>          It was a wonder why Lionel didn’t up and divorce her. She’d be glad of it, in some sense, to be free, but she couldn’t see herself scraping along as a divorcee and all that came with it. </p><p>          She scratched gently at the dog’s ear, and it turned around to face her, putting its nose to her index finger, bumping it gently. She curled her fingers around its face, feeling the soft, well groomed fur, it’s dark eyes looking up at her, for a moment, they looked like Monty’s eyes. </p><p>          She swallowed. Hard. </p><p>          Someone whistled then, and the dogs took off. </p><p>          Sibella looked up, confused. </p><p>          Shingle was back in the doorway, treats in hand, “The weather has cleared up, I thought I’d take them out now, Your Ladyship?”</p><p>          “Of course,” Phoebe got out quietly, her voice breaking the silence. “Thank you, Marietta.”</p><p>          Shingle gave the dogs coaxing and pets, and shut the door afterwards. Sibella could hear their paws pattering on the hardwood floor as they left. </p><p>          “Sibella I-” Phoebe paused, leaning towards her, almost as if to reach out and take her head. </p><p>          Sibella inwardly flinched, instinctively wanting to curl into herself. No, she didn’t want to talk of Lionel, or of children. Not with Phoebe. She couldn’t.</p><p>          Sibella didn’t know how much longer she could keep lying to her. How much longer she could look into those doe-like eyes and keep her mouth shut about her and Monty. </p><p>          Sibella had lived so many lies throughout her life and one by one they were catching up with her. </p><p>          “I should be going, Countess.” Sibella rose to her feet quickly, giving Phoebe no chance to catch her arm with her hand. </p><p>          “Sibella…”</p><p>          “You’ve done no harm, Countess, but I should be leaving. Mr. Holland does expect me to be home for dinner.”</p><p>          The air turned frozen between them. It was of her own doing, of course. She could not let herself get too close to Phoebe. She couldn’t have her comfort her. It would be wrong, on so many levels, not when Phoebe had just lost Monty. </p><p>          Phoebe sensed that she would be getting nothing else out of Sibella, sympathy or otherwise. </p><p>          She stood as well. </p><p>          “I do hope you’ll still come to visit the conservatory one of these days.”</p><p>          “I shall see,” was her reply, and Sibella let herself out. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Rumors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Ten: Rumors</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>           Sibella had never considered herself to be a particularly good person.</p><p>           Not in her youth, in which she had teased and taunted everyone around her mercilessly, not in her early teenage and adult years when she had been a horrible flirt, and certainly not now during her marriage to Lionel.</p><p>           Even still, that night, at the dinner party that she had reluctantly gone to with Lionel at Lord and Lady Cavendish, Sibella wanted to speak up on Phoebe’s behalf and be a good person.</p><p>           It had been mid-way into the dinner, as another round of courses were being brought out by the servants.</p><p>          She took a little from each plate, not wanting to incur Lionel’s anger at her for eating too much once they left in the motorcar. He always chastised her for how much she ate at dinner parties, and Sibella had grown accustomed to not eating very much in order to get him to stop looking at her with disgust. It wasn’t good for her, that she knew, from her stomach grumbling, and feeling horribly and desperately faint all the time, but it was one less thing she had to listen to Lionel complain about, and she was desperate for even a little reprieve of his complaints.</p><p>          She doubted that anyone noticed her apparent lack of appetite, certainly not the man sitting next to her, a Mr. Meadows. The other man to her right, a Mr. Boleyn seemed occupied in his own meal as well.</p><p>          Lionel was as far away from her as possible, and for that Sibella was immensely glad of. At least for a few hours, she could enjoy someone else’s voice and mannerisms other than her husband’s.</p><p>          Someone had brought up the subject of Monty and the D’ysquiths.</p><p>          Sibella had not been paying attention, eating what little was on her plate slowly, so that she didn’t have to make much conversation to the men sitting next to her. When his name came up, she nearly spat out her wine.</p><p>          “I do believe the D’ysquith name is now in utter ruin,” a man declared proudly, as if the destruction of someone else would somehow bring him personal fame and glory.</p><p>          Sibella forced herself to swallow.</p><p>          This certainly was not polite dinner conversation, of that Sibella was quite aware of. She knew the delicacies of conversation, and how murder, particularly a gruesome murder, was to be avoided at all costs lest cause unpleasantness to the ladies at the table.</p><p>          Her stomach hurt then, and she put her fork down on her napkin carefully, her fingers still holding onto the silver tightly, keeping herself steady.</p><p>          “No thanks to that Navarro man, can you imagine it, a disgraced member of your own family, killing the rest of your family in order to gain an Earldom?” Mr. Meadows muttered next to her.</p><p>          Sibella felt her face drain, and she gripped the fork tighter, nearly digging her nails into her palm. Her breath felt tight, restricted, for a moment, she feared she might faint.</p><p>          “Gentlemen, might I ask that we table this conversation until after dinner, us ladies do not do so well when speaking of such things,” Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, with her bright red air, and dazzling smile, sat up straighter when voicing her request.</p><p>          Sibella stole a glance her way, feeling relief flood into her features as the men at the table blustered and stammered out apologies to her and the rest of the ladies.</p><p>          Thank God.</p><p>          With that settled and the conversation turned to tea and imports from America and such things, Sibella made herself eat again, or at least attempted to eat some of the food that was on her plate.</p><p>          “Mrs. Holland, your dress is exquisite, you simply must tell me where you got it?” Lady Cavendish glanced her way with a polite smile.</p><p>          Sibella had always liked her. She had been quite kind to Sibella in the past, exceedingly kind when Sibella had been a newlywed just returned from her honeymoon and entered into Lionel’s social circles and high society. Although she was not older than Sibella, in fact, she believed they were of the same age, she had taken Sibella under her wing as such. Sibella appreciated that more than she could communicate. For all of her training and education had not prepared her for the secret in’s and out’s of high society, and Elizabeth had been more than happy to guide her.</p><p>          “In town, at Lady Iris’ shop,” Sibella smiled, for it was an exquisite gown. Dark maroon in color, with black jewels around the bodice, lace half sleeves, with gloves to match that had been given to the butler upon entering the dining room, and a tiara in her golden hair.</p><p>          “It’s beautiful, I shall have to order from her from now on.”</p><p>          “Oh, yes. She’s very good, and-”</p><p>          “Could be less expensive if you ask me.”</p><p>          Sibella held her face in a smile but her heart dropped as she heard Lionel’s voice from across the room. He just had to weasel his way into every conversation, didn’t he?</p><p>          “I’m sure it’s a small price to pay for your wife looking as beautiful as she does, Mr. Holland,” Lady Cavendish flashed a smile Lionel’s way.</p><p>           “She has other dresses she could have chosen from, no need to go out and buy a new one,” Lionel huffed, oblivious to the fact that he was being downright openly cruel towards Sibella right now.</p><p>          “Well, I think it’s darling, it’s always nice to have something new to put on, especially a gown such as that,” Elizabeth smiled and gave a knowing look in Sibella’s direction.</p><p>          Sibella dipped her eyes down, wanting to throw her fork across the table at Lionel’s face for humiliating her like that in front of the dinner guests, in front of their group of friends.</p><p>          The conversation turned towards something else, and Sibella was eternally grateful for a change in topic.</p><p>          She ate her potatoes slowly, whatever appetite she had had now lost due to Lionel’s remarks.</p><p>          Just as someone was about to remark about the newest design in ocean liner ships, a chorus of giggles erupted from the hallway and the three Cavendish children came rushing into the dining room.</p><p>          Elizabeth and Benjamin looked up at them sternly, for it was not polite when children interrupted the adults during dinner.</p><p>          “I thought you three were off to recite your verses and then go to bed early?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, her voice firm but not angry.</p><p>          The two older girls, red haired just like their mother, smiled in that childish, mischievous way Sibella knew so well. The little boy, barely six Sibella would assume, followed suit with a happy grin.</p><p>          “We were, Mother, but we just wanted to say goodnight. Jonathan wanted to give kisses to you and Father,” the taller, and Sibella presumed, the eldest girl spoke. The other girl next to her giggled.</p><p>          Sibella remembered very well the excitement of being young and seeing adults come over for a dinner party and wanting to be included, and yet shunned for their age. She remembered feeling like it had been Christmas time, with each new guest bringing something new to the house, something special just by their presence, and how she yearned to be a part of it. All of it, the conversations, the jokes, the snide comments, the dancing most especially for Sibella dearly loved to dance, and above all, feeling important enough to warrant a seat at the table.</p><p>          “We learned a song at school today in the yard during lunch, may we sing it to you?” the younger girl barely managed to get her words out in a squeak and an eruption of giggles, “Please? Please, for your guests?”</p><p>          The eldest smirked, knowing that they would get their way, as the boy stumbled over to the head of the table near where Sibella sat, to climb up into Elizabeth’s lap.</p><p>          “Our guests have had enough entertainment for one night, my dears.” Benjamin’s voice verged on becoming terribly stern.</p><p>          “Oh, please! You’ll all enjoy it,” the youngest girl whined, “It’s about that Navarro man.”</p><p>          Elizabeth’s face paled. “Girls, that is not an appropriate topic for-”</p><p>          The youngest girl opened her mouth and started the sing-songy rhyme anyway.</p><p>                    “Monty Navarro,</p><p>                     Buried his sorrow</p><p>                     With an axe</p><p>                     Into the D’ysquith’s backs</p><p>                    Eight in all</p><p>                    He made them fall</p><p>                    Until he died</p><p>                    At the yardman’s call.”</p><p>          The table was deathly silent after that. Except for the girl’s giggling and the little boy’s humming in his mother’s lap, no one else made a single sound.</p><p>          That is, until Lionel began to clap.</p><p>          “A very fine tune dears, very fine indeed. Tell me, did you come up with that yourselves?”</p><p>          Mr. Meadows and Boleyn and others at the table slowly joined in with the clapping. The girls were proud of their amusement, happy to be noticed by so many adults.</p><p>          “No.” the oldest pointed out.</p><p>          “Frederick McCallister came up with it, at lunch today. He’s very good, isn’t he?” the younger piped up, face flushed and giddy.</p><p>          “Did you know that he killed eight people?” the young girl blurted out, desperate for any sort of reaction. The adults remained nonplussed and gave no immediate reaction.</p><p>          Elizabeth, of course, tried to soothe over the wrongs that had been done.</p><p>          “I think it’s time for bed, my dears,” she said pointedly, kissing the top of the boy’s head, and sending the girls off with a knowing look.</p><p>          The eldest, Sibella thought her name to be Jane only pouted for a moment, and then reluctantly took the boy by the hand upstairs. The other girl, Amy, lingered.</p><p>          “Must I go?”</p><p>          “Yes, I very well think it best that you should,” Elizabeth gave her a curt nod towards the hallway, and she sulked, shoulders down, tears threatening to fall.</p><p>          Sibella was not sure what to make of what had just happened. Of course she knew that rumors would have been spread about Monty, that people would talk, but never had she imagined that being done so openly, and by children, no less!</p><p>          Gossip ran rampant around the schoolyard, that she knew well, but for them to be discussing this? For them to be making up songs about Monty, that bewildered Sibella.</p><p>          “I am terribly sorry for that,” Elizabeth apologized as soon as the children’s footsteps were heard upstairs, “The girls get so excited when people come over, and what happened with the D’ysquith’s is the talk of the town.”</p><p>          “I think they had the right idea of it,” one man commented, Sibella was floored that it was not Lionel. It was another man, one whose name escaped her.</p><p>          “Ambitious climber, he was. Our society should not be so plagued by such people, I believe he got what was coming to him,” Lionel then remarked, and Sibella closed her eyes for a moment. Tried to steady her breath.</p><p>          “And now his widow is all but ostracized from society. Who would ever associate with the widow of a convicted murderer? I doubt she’ll ever reappear in society again, if she knows what’s good for her,” a woman remarked.</p><p>          Sibella wasn’t sure if she was glad or horrified that the conversation had now turned to Phoebe.</p><p>          The air was tense, and Sibella stole a glance to Elizabeth, who had now realized that the conversation was now out of her hands and control.</p><p>          “I heard she’s quite kind, such a shame for her to be forever associated with such a man, and to be his wife, for however short a time they were married, the poor thing shall be forever ruined.” Another woman quietly spoke up.</p><p>          Sibella’s throat turned dry, and she reached for her glass of wine to quench her thirst. She drank a generous sip, and felt none the better afterwards.</p><p>          “She probably knew about it. Most wives know what happens behind closed doors with their husbands, she probably wanted the inheritance and the fortune and he got it for her.” Mr. Meadows interjected, and Sibella fought the urge to stab him with her fork.</p><p>          Such things couldn’t have been further from the truth. Sibella knew as such, but could not say. Lionel would be furious for one, and he’d lock her away for God knows how long due to her disobedience.</p><p>          “But they were her own family, surely she must have had some affection for them, enough to not have him kill them. I don’t believe she knew, which makes it all the more tragic if you ask me,” Benjamin said, and Sibella was glad that someone at this table had some sense in them.</p><p>          “Are you planning to invite her to your next party then?” One of the women trilled, in a high nervous laughter. “Goodness, Benjamin, have all of these children turned you soft? Regardless of whether or not she was involved, she pays the price and has to suffer the consequences of his actions. And we as good people in society have to treat her accordingly.”</p><p>          Sibella bit down on her lower lip so hard she thought she tasted blood.</p><p>          “My goodness, Caroline, if that’s how you feel, I sorely hope that Mr. Howard doesn’t find himself in a bit of trouble or we’ll all have to do the same to you,” Benjamin retorted.</p><p>          The woman, Caroline, turned scarlet and said no more.</p><p>          Her fork shook in her own hand, and Sibella tried to steady herself but no matter what she did, she could not calm down.</p><p>          It was horrible, to hear them all say such cruel and thoughtless things. True, Sibella had once been cruel and horrid just like them, but she thought herself out of the stage by now. For one, her marriage had made her appreciate kindness in others, for she did not receive any from her husband. And her visits to Highhurst had made her consider Phoebe as at least a decent person, Sibella would not call her a friend yet.</p><p>          She took in a deep breath and reached for her wine glass again, but found it empty to her bitter disappointment.</p><p>          The topic then changed with the help of Mr. Boleyn back to shipyards and ocean liners, but Sibella could not shake the unnerved and guilty feeling that had now possessed her body.</p><p>          She should have said something, anything, in defense of Phoebe and Monty, but she had remained quiet.</p><p>          What would Monty say if he had heard of her lack of action? Would he be furious with her, or understanding?</p><p>          Sibella did not know, and would never know.</p><p>          The rest of the evening was spent with her indulging in idle talk with the ladies, and drinking a little champagne though she had no appetite for it, her head was already dizzy.</p><p>          Before she left, when Lionel went to go tell the butler to retrieve their coats, Elizabeth pulled her aside into a dimly lit hallway. Gilded and gorgeous it was, as the Cavendish’s were considerably wealthier than Sibella and Lionel, with its white paint and portraits.</p><p>          “I sincerely hope you can forgive us for what happened tonight at dinner. I know that you and Montague Navarro were close in childhood, and I never meant to bring up such unpleasantness. Please do forgive me,” Elizabeth said in a hushed tone, clasping Sibella’s hands in her own.</p><p>          “There’s nothing to forgive, Lady Elizabeth, like you said, what happened with the D’ysquith’s is the talk of the town, I cannot blame you nor anyone else for speaking about it.”</p><p>          Elizabeth pursed her lips, “Yes, but the girls-”</p><p>          “You forget, I was once their age as well,” Sibella interrupted before Elizabeth could continue, “They meant no harm, I know that.”</p><p>          “Still, I am so terribly sorry, for all of it.”</p><p>          Sibella swallowed tensely, Elizabeth sounded so genuinely sincere, like Phoebe had the other day upon apologizing for her remark about Lionel. Everyone around her, when speaking with her, sounded sincere. Sibella assumed it was pity, and she hated being pitied. She was being treated differently by everyone in her life, her family, her husband, even those with whom she had considered herself ‘friends’ with. She did not want their pity. She wanted Monty back. She wanted the awful horribleness that had occurred ever since Monty’s mother passed to just disappear like smoke so they could start over again.</p><p>          “Please don’t trouble yourself for my sake. It’s perfectly alright,” Sibella lied with a small smile.</p><p>          Elizabeth squeezed her hands gently, “I do hope you’ll come for tea one of these days. We need a proper good catch up, don’t you agree, Sibella?”</p><p>          Sibella’s smile widened, just a bit. The smile was forced but the affection and longing to speak with someone who might understand was not.</p><p>          “Of course, I shall check my schedule and write when an available date comes up.”</p><p>          Elizabeth then let go of her hands, and they emerged back into the foyer just as the butler was bringing Sibella’s coat. She slipped it on, although she was rather hot and flustered from the conversation at dinner, and Elizabeth kissed her on both cheeks as goodbye.</p><p>          “Do come soon, Mrs. Holland, I have a lovely new china set that needs to be used.”</p><p>          Sibella simply nodded as Lionel snaked a hand around her waist, pulling her towards him. Benjamin gave her a curt bow and kissed her hand and then shook hands with Lionel.</p><p>          The cold air only bothered her for a few moments as they made their way from the door to the motorcar. Lionel started it up and they began to drive away.</p><p>          “It would do you good to call upon Lady Elizabeth, she’s of worthy stock and her husband does have connections in the political world.  You could learn a lot from her on how to act, on being a wife.”</p><p>          Sibella said nothing.</p><p>          Lionel’s right hand left the steering wheel to place itself on her upper left thigh. Sibella flinched.</p><p>          “I believe you might be right,” Sibella replied after a moment.</p><p>          Lionel turned to look at her for a moment, and then took his hand off of her.</p><p>          Sibella said nothing for the rest of the drive home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Distance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Eleven: Distance</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>          Phoebe was beyond overjoyed when Sibella showed up for her visit to Highhurst the next week. The weather was good, and sunny, and not too brutally cold for them to take the walk to the conservatory in the gardens. </p>
<p>          The late afternoon, after a cup of tea, seemed like the perfect time. </p>
<p>          Sibella had to admit, however, that things between herself and the Countess were now… <em>strained</em> to say the least. </p>
<p>          Sibella had very little to say, and Phoebe too much at times. </p>
<p>          Sibella gathered that Phoebe was trying to make up for her remarks the other week, and a trip to the conservatory would give her enough to talk about. The dogs came with them, Bella right on Sibella’s heels, and Donna at Phoebe’s.</p>
<p>          The visit to the conservatory provided Phoebe with the perfect opportunity to speak aloud as much as she wanted, with little to no interruption from Sibella.</p>
<p>          The glass conservatory was even more beautiful than Sibella had originally thought. With high vaulted ceilings, the tinted turquoise bluish glass shimmered against the sunlight that streamed in. Sibella felt as if she had entered another world entirely. </p>
<p>          There were, of course, too many flowers for her to take them all in at once. A vast, dizzying collection that seemed to spread for miles upon miles, although Sibella knew that the conservatory was not sprawling nor stretched for miles. </p>
<p>          The dogs barked happily and made their way ahead, clamoring over each other, while Sibella and Phoebe stayed put. </p>
<p>          “Isn’t it just wonderful? I do so love coming in here, especially in the cold months, it just feels like such a breath of fresh air, doesn’t it?”</p>
<p>          “Oh! Do be careful though, I have a numerous collection of flowers that are quite poisonous to humans, as well as dogs alike, so do ask if it’s alright before you lean in to smell any.”</p>
<p>          Sibella glanced towards where the dogs had clamored off to, “Will they be alright? Won’t they try to eat any of them?”</p>
<p>          “Goodness, no, I’ve taught them that anything in the conservatory is off limits. I also usually have a treat or two in my pocket to keep them at bay.” Phoebe reached into her lavender coat pocket and pulled out two dog treats, and then put them back gingerly. </p>
<p>          Sibella gave Phoebe a polite smile and then started to meander around the stone cold concrete. It was organized, like everything Phoebe had, in some sort of pattern, perhaps region, time of blooming, Sibella could not figure it out. She had thought Phoebe would have organized them by color, she had such an array of flowers. </p>
<p>          Little, petite bulbs, to sprawling giants, as well as some natural ivy that had crept its way through some cracks in the ceiling and walls. </p>
<p>          “Uncle never quite kept this place in tiptop condition, so I do have lots of work to do, namely the cracks and tearing out the ivy in some places so it doesn’t strangle my flowers, but it should be done by next winter.”</p>
<p>          Phoebe appeared next to her, while Sibella was inspecting a set of long, tubular bulbs that extended down their stems in almost a triangle pattern. .</p>
<p>          “Foxglove, poisonous to the skin, and to eat. Their berries will kill you if ingested.”</p>
<p>          Sibella stared at the plant. How could a beautiful flower such as this be so poisonous and deadly? It astounded her. </p>
<p>          She suppressed an inward shudder as she remembered that supposedly Monty had poisoned the Earl. Had this been the poison that had been used? Or was it another? Regardless of whether or not Monty did it, <strong><em>someone</em></strong> poisoned the Earl.</p>
<p>          Sibella wanted to ask how many poisonous flowers she was standing in the midst of, but decided to save that question for another day. After all, she was still on rocky ground with the Countess.</p>
<p>          “There’s foxglove there, and then my belladonnas are in the far corner, and there’s larkspur over there; the blue and purple flowers, I have some lily of the valley’s in the other corner, some morning glories next to the lilies, oleanders in the other corner, wolf’s bane of course, and then there are the nonpoisonous flowers such as my beloved roses, irises, and lavender, my Queen Anne’s Lace are kept in here as well… oh how could I forget my nightshade, that too.” She pointed out each to Sibella as she said them, and Sibella looked quietly, not saying a word. </p>
<p>          “It can be quite confusing, I understand, but I take the utmost care with my flowers, I tend to them dearly and lovingly.”</p>
<p>          “I can see that,” Sibella remarked. </p>
<p>          Phoebe flashed a warm smile her way, but Sibella turned her head in the direction of the dogs, who now came bounding back to them.</p>
<p>          “Good girls, here’s a treat because you know you’re not supposed to eat any of Mama’s flowers,” cooed Phoebe as she knelt down to them, retrieving the treats in her pocket for them to eat.</p>
<p>          The dogs yelped happily as they ate their treats, and Sibella walked around some more, finding peace in the quietness. After what had happened the other night at the dinner party, she found herself relishing in the quiet. People had a terrible, horrible habit of saying things that were particularly unkind whether they meant to or not, and so Sibella had opted for silence this past week or so since the party. </p>
<p>           Lionel had given her approving glances, taking her silence as being complicit in their marriage, a sign that perhaps she had finally given up and resigned herself to the life of a housewife, or God forbid, the wife of some floundering politician. Sibella merely had nothing to say out loud. She had spent the last week or more thinking, really and truly thinking. After Lionel came to her bed, she laid there, not sleeping, thinking. </p>
<p>           The thoughts were not of one sort. It seemed jumbled, randomized, and Sibella supposed she could blame that on the grief of losing Monty. </p>
<p>            Some days her thoughts lingered on Monty, and then on the D’ysquiths, the dinner party and how she had been so cruel and hurt that night when Monty had announced their engagement. Other days she thought of her childhood, of how her parents had left her to her own devices, and had not cared as long as she maintained some semblance of propriety in public.</p>
<p>            All in all, her thoughts led her to one crucial question, as if she was trying to answer it by looking to her past.</p>
<p>           How did she get here?</p>
<p><br/>          Here, walking around in the conservatory of Highhurst, acting as some sort of friend to Phoebe D’ysquith, her former lover’s widow.</p>
<p>          Here, trapped in a loveless marriage to Lionel Holland.</p>
<p>          Heartbroken and trying to find solace in a world where Montague Navarro no longer existed and could ease her sorrows and unhappiness with just a kiss of his lips to her forehead, a touch of his fingers to her own, his eyes locking onto hers for just a moment. </p>
<p>          And now, for her to befriending Monty’s widow, she truly and honestly did not know how long she could keep up this charade of a friendship. </p>
<p>          Surely she would slip, something would make its way past her own lips and be voiced out loud before she had a second thought to stuff it back down again. Surely something would be remarked upon that would give Phoebe a hint. Or worse, someone else could tell her about the rumors of her and Monty. It was only a matter of time, and frankly Sibella was confused as to why it hadn’t happened yet. </p>
<p>          “Are you quite alright, Mrs. Holland?” Phoebe’s voice snapped her back to reality. Sibella took in a breath of cold, frigid air before answering. </p>
<p>          “Yes, quite. I’m sorry, I seem to have gotten lost in my own thoughts for a minute.”</p>
<p>          Sibella felt faint for some reason, maybe all of this hard thinking was to blame. </p>
<p>          “Shall we go back inside? I could ring for some more tea,” Phoebe looked genuinely worried for her, and Sibella forced herself to smile and wave the concern away. </p>
<p>          “That would be lovely, Countess.”</p>
<p>          Sibella swallowed hard as Phoebe turned to open the door to let the dogs out, and she closed her eyes for just a moment.</p>
<p>          God what was she doing? If Lionel found out about these visits, she did not dare think on what would happen to her. And to make matters worse, she had genuinely begun to enjoy Phoebe’s company. She found herself looking forward to going to Highhurst each week, and she liked discussing things with her. </p>
<p>          Monty had been right all along, damn him, they did have a lot in common.</p>
<p>          Sibella hadn’t been so sure, the first night they had met, nor even when she had first visited the castle after Monty’s death. They seemed such opposites, such opposing forces. Phoebe of grace and kindness, where she herself could be cruel and deceitful. For goodness’ sake even their color palettes were opposing, some might say! Pink and blue, pink held the shades of red, of fire, of desire, whereas blue was calm and collected, rational.</p>
<p>         Heaven’s sake, even their hair color was opposite. </p>
<p>         Everything about one another on the surface seemed to suggest that such a friendship would never last, that it would never even begin due to their differences, but somehow over the last few weeks they had made it work. </p>
<p>          Grief had hollowed them both. It had taken out any animosity the other would have had for the other woman and left in its place the longing to be with someone who had known Monty as they once had. And in that, for that comfort, they only had each other. </p>
<p>          Still, it was too much. Too much at stake, and too much to risk for Sibella to continue this any further.</p>
<p>          This would be her last visit to Highhurst, ever. </p>
<p>          She opened her eyes then, to find Phoebe turning to glance back at her.</p>
<p>          “Shall we go?”</p>
<hr/>
<p>           They were seated in the drawing room once more. Sibella stared down at her cup of tea in silence. The dogs bustled about them, trying to get their attention, but Phoebe must have sensed the mood change for she too was quiet and melancholy. </p>
<p>           “I’ve decided,” Phoebe started softly, “I’ve decided to have a portrait done of Monty, by the painter my family has employed for decades. When it’s done, I would like for you to see it. I’ve given Jacques most of the photographs I could find of Monty, there weren’t many to begin with, but whatever I had I gave to him so he could capture his likeness.”</p>
<p>           Sibella didn’t know why that caused her so much pain in that moment, so much pain she nearly gasped, perhaps it cemented the gravity and reality of it all. That Monty was dead, he was dead, and this painter only had photographs for him to rely on to capture who Monty was, his essence.</p>
<p>           And that would be all. A portrait remembering his essence and nothing else but the ghosts of Sibella and Phoebe’s memories of him, respectively.</p>
<p>           She took in a steadying breath, her fingers shaking as she grasped her tea cup, struggling to not spill its contents into her lap. </p>
<p>           She wanted to speak, but couldn’t. So she nodded silently instead.</p>
<p>           She did not know whether or not she would be able to face a portrait of Monty, but that was a separate issue for another day. </p>
<p>           “I got the idea after our tour of the art gallery, from you. When you said that art was the way to immortality, I thought, what a perfect way to forever remember Monty. I have you to thank, Sibella.”</p>
<p>           Oh no. This was too much. Sibella’s stomach turned.</p>
<p>           If only Phoebe knew the truth, she’d be cursing her instead of thanking her. </p>
<p>           Sibella gathered, or at least assumed, that if Phoebe knew that Sibella had been Monty’s mistress, sleeping with him while they were engaged and up until their marriage, and would have presumably kept it up after their marriage had Monty not gotten arrested, Phoebe would not show her even an ounce of kindness, and Sibella would not blame her. </p>
<p>           A gnawing feeling took over her stomach then, guilt. She knew the emotion well. </p>
<p>          “Jacques came by yesterday and picked up the photographs, he said it should be done by the end of December, just in time for Christmas.”</p>
<p>           Sibella was only half-listening, a horrid thumping, her own heart, pounded in her ears and in her head. </p>
<p>           Phoebe would hate her, purely and simply if she knew. Sibella would hate whatever woman Lionel was ever caught cheating with. However, Sibella’s hatred would come from being jealous and not from being betrayed. But Sibella knew that Phoebe loved and had loved Monty with all of her being, and that she would not take lightly to being so insulted and betrayed by sitting here having tea with her dead husband’s mistress.</p>
<p>           “I was hoping,” Phoebe had put her tea cup down on the side table. Her lavender coat had been taken away by Gorby, revealing her dark purple and black bodice with a black skirt. Her fingers twirled around the ends of her hair that lay in a plait across her left shoulder. She had replaced the coat with that black shawl she seemed to cling to nowadays. She had now worn it twice, or thrice if Sibella’s memory was correct?</p>
<p>           “I was hoping that next time you visit, you could accompany me to the village. The local orphanage always puts on the nativity story at the local parish and I’ve promised the pastor that I’d come see their rehearsals. I would be delighted if you would join me? I was hoping we could discuss Monty, and what he was like in his childhood. I knew him for such a short amount of time, and I’d love anything you’d be willing to tell me.”</p>
<p>           Sibella was hesitant. She took a moment.</p>
<p>          Phoebe’s eyes were pleading, but gentle, understanding if Sibella decided to say no.</p>
<p>          Against her better judgement, and her promise to herself earlier, Sibella accepted the invitation to the village.</p>
<p>          While on the ride home in the carriage, Sibella pondered over her decision to say yes. It certainly wasn’t one of her best ideas, considering how Lionel had made his stance clear on Phoebe and any association with her. It surely hadn’t been her own personal decision, seeing as she had thought she had made up her mind in the conservatory that this would be her last visit. Was it guilt? Was she doing this to appease Monty? Was it spite? She had no answers for herself.</p>
<p>          All she knew was that the smile that graced Phoebe’s face after she said yes, and the way her eyes lit up were enough to comfort her in the fact that she made the right choice. Phoebe had suffered so much, intentionally and unintentionally by others, and Sibella’s hand, she could not put her through anything else, nevertheless the dissipation of a friendship bloomed in her hour of need, her time of mourning.</p>
<p>         Sibella chewed on her lower lip. However was she to explain this to Lionel? Little lies here and there only went so far. </p>
<p>         She placed a hand to her mouth, elbow on the side of the carriage as it bumped and bustled along, and took in a deep breath. </p>
<p>         How, indeed, had she ended up here?</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Ice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Twelve: Ice</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>          The cold iciness of winter had descended upon England, although no snow had fallen from the sky. Sibella still felt the bitter coldness as she jostled along in the carriage to Highhurst that afternoon, despite having worn her warmest coat and gloves. </p><p>          Lionel had gone to Newmarket this morning, and so she had been left alone for a few hours. Grahame had written to her, and she had tossed the letter aside to reply to him later on in the week. </p><p>          She had had the slightest hesitation upon returning to Highhurst as she hailed the driver and carriage this morning. Her earlier feelings of discomfort disappeared however as soon as they reached the castle. The cold air made the castle’s edges and spires seem somewhat sharper in the morning light, towering and pointed. She waited but just a moment and then Mr. Gorby answered the door and allowed her entrance into the castle.</p><p>          There was some warmth upon arriving into the castle’s threshold, enough to satisfy Sibella’s skin. Her cheeks turned flushed from the cold air, reddening surely as the moments passed, as well as the tip of her nose felt particularly cold. </p><p>          “Shall I take your coat, madam?” Gorby asked, holding out an arm.</p><p>          “No, I believe we are to go straight away to the village so I shall keep it on, thank Mr. Gorby.”</p><p>          “Yes, of course. Patrick and Samson are getting the carriage together. Shall you be needing anything else?”</p><p>          Sibella shook her head, delicately pulling off her left glove in order to capture more warmth in her fingers while it lasted. </p><p>          “No, thank you.”</p><p>          Mr. Gorby bowed and left her in the foyer, disappearing into the servant’s quarters to await the carriage being brought around.</p><p>          Sibella flexed her fingers continuously as she paced around the marble floor. Her ring glimmered in the harsh winter sunlight reflected through the windows as she kept her fingers moving. </p><p>          The cold was bitter today. Bitter and biting. The first sign of winter was always a heavy, deep frost and this was no different. </p><p>          She circled the floor at a brisk pace, not too fast as to show her impatience, but her nervousness in all honesty. Sibella now felt nervous around Phoebe. </p><p>          What a change from when Sibella had once felt the need to feel superior around the girl, had made herself feel more important, had wanted to outshine her in every way in order to maintain Monty’s affections!</p><p>          Now she felt like a timid child in her presence. </p><p>          If she had to guess, she assumed what caused her nerves was the constant societal pull away from Phoebe that made her nervous, and not Phoebe herself. At the dinner party, nearly everyone had all but distanced themselves from the Countess, literally and figuratively, in light of what had happened with Monty. Sibella knew that if she wanted to stay in their good graces, and in Lionel’s good graces, that she should, no, <em>must</em> pull away from Phoebe before anyone finds out about their meetings together. Her fear of Lionel’s wrath made her nervous to be in Phoebe’s presence, but the woman herself was nothing to fear, not at all.</p><p>          The feeling in the fingers of her left hand had just returned when she heard Phoebe’s heels clicking down the hallway, and saw the flurry of her lavender coat, fixed with some sort of fur (faux, if Sibella’s feelings about Phoebe were correct at all, she’d never hurt another animal for their pelt, not even for fashion), her brown hair in a simple plait, and she gave Sibella no time to utter a greeting before whisking her towards the front door, clasping Sibella’s ungloved hand firmly but not crushing, saying;</p><p>          “I’m so sorry for the delay, I had such a time trying to find extra gloves and coats for the children to give away. Uncle and Auntie just threw things about in no sort of fashion nor order, and I wanted to give them something since it’s so cold.” Clasped in her other hand were a pair of lavender leather gloves but Phoebe had yet to put them on.</p><p>          “I’ve sent Patrick to collect the boxes of gloves and coats in the back, so let’s get settled and then we shall be on our way.”</p><p>          Before Sibella knew it, she and Phoebe were out into the cold morning air, and Sibella’s fingers twitched within Phoebe’s grasp at just how cold it was, and Sibella marveled for a minute at how Phoebe’s hand remained steady and warm. For a moment, she half wanted to pull away, surely this was crossing so many boundaries and social rules, but Phoebe had initiated it, and Sibella felt odd to refuse her or deny her anything, seeing as her station was lower to Phoebe’s. </p><p>          The touch, however, felt strange to Sibella. </p><p>          Strange because it had been a purposeful, firm gesture, so unlike the societal handshakes and touches she had experienced at dinner parties and dances and the like. Men grabbed her hands forcefully, too firmly, too gripping that she’d usually grimace. Woman barely wanted anything to do with her when she extended her hands for greeting, barely shaking her hand. Even Elizabeth’s touch to her arm the other night had been a faint, wisp of a feeling, nothing concrete, nothing permanent. </p><p>          It was firm and purposeful, but wasn’t necessarily harsh or brutal. No, Sibella knew what that felt like all too much. Lionel touched her like that, firm and crushing, wanting to remind her that she was his. </p><p>          God, no, no one had touched her hand like this since… Monty. Monty had the same firm but not brutal grip on her hand. It was gentle, tender, and yet Sibella knew what he wasn’t saying with his eyes and a touch of his hand to her own. </p><p>          “Oh, what a beautiful ring,” Phoebe remarked in a quiet, hushed tone. </p><p>          They were in the carriage, Phoebe sitting across from Sibella, Sibella’s bare hand being held by Phoebe’s gloved ones. Sibella wondered when Phoebe had slipped them on, those beautiful lavender gloves? At least it was warm in the carriage, too warm, as Sibella felt a blush rise to her cheeks. </p><p>          Sibella glanced down to her ring on her left finger. She supposed it was dazzling and beautiful, it had been to her at first. She had been ecstatic when Lionel had brought her home from the opera and she paraded it around the house like a prized trophy, staring at how the light made it sparkle, how it felt on her finger, not caring to think on the man that had given it to her, and she would have to spend the rest of her life with. </p><p>          Silver, for Lionel had gone cheap even for her engagement ring, with a generously medium sized diamond in the middle with two sets of cut diamonds on either side, sprung up with silver prongs and delicate etching and carvings around the band. </p><p>          For her wedding band, once again, it was silver, with a set of three tiny diamonds in the middle, separated by lines etched into the small band. No one usually commented on the wedding ring, for it was the engagement ring that was supposed to be the statement piece. </p><p>          Monty had once spent hours looking with her at a jewelry shop for rings when they were around fourteen and fifteen. The shop clerk had regarded them warily and merely shook his head, even then people had known that they would have not ended up together, except themselves. But he had been a good sport that day, asking the clerk politely to pull out whatever ring Sibella demanded to try on, and told her that every single one looked beautiful and stunning on her slender, slim fingers. </p><p>          When they went back to her parent’s home afterwards, Monty had recounted to her a ring of his own design, that he promised to make for her, or have made if he could not master forging himself, and solemnly sworn that she would wear that ring and his own Mother’s ring as an engagement and wedding ring respectively. Sibella had thought it strange that Monty’s mother only had a wedding ring, but now, with the truth out, seeing that she had been disowned for falling in love with Monty’s father, it made sense that they could only afford a wedding band. Sibella had honestly been surprised that they could afford that.</p><p>          Sibella wondered if Phoebe was wearing that same ring, the one that Monty sometimes used to steal away from his Mother’s dresser when she went out for cleaning, for Isobel could not bear to lose it while on a job, or have it slip off her fingers while washing laundry and cleaning dishes, and he used to put it on Sibella’s slender finger and they’d pretend to be ‘married’ for a few hours while his Mother was away, and he always returned it just before she came home while Sibella slipped out the back and ran back to her house. </p><p>           It had been such a child’s fantasy. Those dreams and wants of her marriage to Monty, those childhood wishes that they could be together and that her snobbish attitude and his stubbornness wouldn’t get in the way of all that. </p><p>          Her heart ached, and she forced herself to stop dwelling on it. Her gaze refocused on her wedding ring, her hand still in Phoebe’s.</p><p>          She pulled away, startling Phoebe, with a sharp tug. </p><p>          “Yes, Mr. Holland did rather well.”</p><p>          “What does he do? I remember you saying something about Newmarket that one night..”</p><p>          “A banker primarily, he works at my father’s firm. Nothing substantial, but it pays. He wants to become a politician.”</p><p>          “A politician? My goodness, that’s rather a lot of work, and such a heavy load to bear. People don’t move too quickly up the ranks in that department.”</p><p>          Sibella glanced down at her skirts. A dark maroon to match her sleeved bodice and corset. </p><p>          “No. They don’t. I’ve tried telling him that but he’s not interested in my opinion.” The words slipped out as she thought of the fight they had had the other night.</p><p>          Phoebe tilted her head just a tad, her eyes narrowing. </p><p>          “Why ever not? I think you have very firm and intelligent opinions.”</p><p>           “Lionel prefers to keep me out of the talk of business.”</p><p>           Phoebe hummed, “Well, I suppose it has been predominantly a man’s world, hasn’t it? But your opinions are just as important as his, if not more, seeing as you’re his wife. If he does become a politician, your life, as well as his, is on full display.”</p><p>          “He has... <em>different</em> ideas,” was all Sibella uttered. She yanked on her other glove, over her hand, covering the ring so that it no longer sparkled and shone in the winter light. </p><p>          “Business is rather confusing, if I’m being honest. I have tenants to collect from and keep track of in the village, as well as at the property in Salisbury that I took over from Henry. I’ve enlisted help, since I just simply can’t keep track of it all myself, perhaps Mr. Holland is saving you from an unnecessary burden and stress by keeping you out of such business. Not that collecting rent from tenants and politics is the same, but the principle of it all.”</p><p>          She was rambling again, Sibella noticed. A nervous habit. From childhood perhaps, or perhaps an odd tick she had now developed after being so alone for so long?</p><p>          “The children are so excited that we’re coming today. It’s the first day of rehearsals so they’re all overjoyed at their parts, and getting to learn their lines. And for those who can’t read, those that do, help them memorize their lines. It’ll be such a joy to see them. My brother used to accompany me, and our parents when we were young, but this time I was so nervous to go alone, and I’m so grateful that you’ve decided to accompany me.”</p><p>          Sibella gave her a polite smile, and fidgeted with her ring underneath her glove with her other hand. A nervous tick of her own.</p><p>          Children weren’t exactly fond nor affectionate with her. She liked them well enough in passing, but any prolonged exposure to them resulted in a deep headache and a severe desire to never have any of her own. </p><p>          She’d absolutely have to have a nanny if she ever bore Lionel any children, for Sibella knew that she wasn’t made to be the motherly type and she did not want to harm any of her children due to her own faults and shortcomings. </p><p>          At least she wouldn’t pretend to the parenting, mothering type like others she knew. She would not falsify a pretense that she did not possess nor claim to have. She would save her child from whatever harm befell those whose parents did claim to keep a false pretense around them. Her child (or children if that somehow ever happened) would know exactly where they stood with Sibella and their relationship to her, and nothing more. Yes, she would be doting and supportive when needed, but she had never mastered any sort of discipline nor for herself or anyone else, and she certainly could not learn such things now, not enough to be a good parental figure for her child.</p><p>          Partially, and she’d only admit this to herself in her mind, but Sibella was secretly terrified that any child she bore would hate her, and be as cruel to her as she had been to her own parents and siblings. In truth, Sibella Hallward was scared of creating another version of herself, be it male or female, whether it shared  her looks completely or only partially, some part of her would be printed upon that child, and Sibella feared that the only traits that would stick would be the worst ones. </p><p>          It would have been different if it had been a child with Monty. Monty at least had some semblance of decency and kindness, virtues that Sibella lacked for a long time, something worthy to pass onto a child. Isobel had taken great lengths to keep him kind and generous in a world that was not always kind to him and his mother. </p><p>          Sibella liked to think that she gained at least kindness as an attribute in her dedication to befriending Phoebe these past few weeks. Kindness as well as some sort of loyalty to the other woman. </p><p>          But to think of a combination of herself and Lionel, she dared not dwell upon the subject. Between Lionel’s brutal and boorish ways, and her own snobbery, that child certainly would have a lot to unlearn, and Sibella would only be a hypocrite if she tried to intervene with her child in order to change their ways. Besides, Lionel didn’t want her to be a hands on mother at all, that was something they at least somewhat agreed with. A nanny would be most suitable, and if Sibella so chose she could have some private moments with the child. If a girl, Sibella would brush her hair every night, and let her try on her jewelry. If a boy, Sibella would try to keep him kind and respectful, but she knew that she could only do so much. </p><p>          “I do hope I’m not bringing up harsh memories when I implore you to tell me about Monty as a boy?”</p><p>          Phoebe’s question brought her back to reality and she paused for a moment, eyes blinking as she tried to sum up that vibrant boy she had once known in a single phrase. </p><p>          “Eager,” was the word her heart settled upon. </p><p>          Phoebe smiled, tilting her head a bit.</p><p>          “Eager.... Do go on.”</p><p>          Sibella straightened, licking her lips, trying to press away her earlier thoughts by focusing on Monty. </p><p>          “He was always eager… for anything, really. Attention, kindness, love, happiness. He and his Mother struggled for so much and I believe it had a profound impact on him. He always wanted the best even when he couldn’t have it. He strove to be the best, to turn any situation into his favor. I guess one might call that ambition, but I believe it to be sincere, hence the word eager.”</p><p>          “Did he excel in school?”</p><p>          “Yes, he was very bright. Good with sums and all that. And writing too. He was far better at his studies than I was.”</p><p>          “Oh, but you’re so intelligent!” protested Phoebe, surely simply out of kindness. Sibella didn’t think herself to be as intelligent as Phoebe claimed she was. </p><p>          “I didn’t care much for school when I was younger. Monty cared. He cared about everything.”</p><p>          “He did strike me as a most compassionate man, yes,” Phoebe murmured softly.</p><p>          Sibella shifted her weight in the carriage as it lurched forward after coming to an abrupt stop, assuming someone had crossed into the road. </p><p>          “When did you first meet him? As a child, in school or…?”</p><p>          “I believe I first really noticed him at a ribbon shop, we had gone to school together for about half the year and I was out with my sister Cynthia at the local ribbon shop, fussing over which ones I wanted to get for my new dress, and he offered to buy it for me. I found out later that he spent all his money that he saved up doing odd jobs and whatnot, on that ribbon just to impress me. After that, his mother sometimes came over to help keep our house clean, she was very thorough, and Monty and I became friends.”</p><p>          The word ‘friends’ sounded disingenuous, a lie on her tongue, but Sibella was not about to reveal that she had been lovers with Phoebe’s husband. </p><p>          “Do you still have it?”</p><p>          The question threw Sibella for a moment, as her thoughts had been musing on her and Monty’s complicated ‘friendship’ over the years.</p><p>          “What?” she tilted her own head as Phoebe straightened hers, laughing a bit.</p><p>          “The ribbon he bought you?”</p><p>          Sibella’s heart skipped a few beats. She had to think. Why, yes. Yes she still had it, tucked away somewhere in her room along with some of her other old childhood things. </p><p>          “I do, yes. It was a beautiful vibrant pink ribbon, I had never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life, up until that point I mean.”</p><p>          “That’s very charming,” Phoebe gave her a smile. “How on earth, if you don’t mind me asking, did you two not end up as sweethearts?”</p><p>          Sibella paled, her mouth turning dry. The cold from the outside air seemed to fill her very bones at that moment. </p><p>          “I’m sorry, I have once again asked an inappropriate question. It’s just that… your story seems so similar to those that I’ve read in books and those always end up in some sort of happy union, I was just curious as to why you and Monty never…” Phoebe’s face was flushed again.</p><p>          “We were, for a time,” the half lie slipped off her tongue so easily, Sibella was afraid that the truth had accidentally come out with it. “But then we grew apart, and I met Lionel, and he met you. He was very devoted to you.”</p><p>          It wasn’t a complete lie. It wasn’t the whole truth either. Sibella could live with Phoebe thinking that they had been sweethearts as children that had grown out of their youthful attraction to one another and grew up as friends as adults. That was a story Sibella could stick to, a story she could tell repeatedly and remember in case Phoebe asked about it again. </p><p>          “I see,” Phoebe’s gaze met hers, and for a moment, Sibella was terrified that Phoebe saw right through her lie. “How did you come to meet Mr. Holland?”</p><p>          “At a business party at my father’s firm. He worked for my father at the bank, and took an interest in me, we courted for a few months and then he proposed.”</p><p>          “Would you like to know a secret?” Phoebe leaned in, her face youthful and joyous. She clasped Sibella’s gloved hands in her own, “I actually proposed to Monty, not the other way around. I just knew that I loved him fully and completely and I just couldn’t wait for him to ask the question, in fear he would lose his nerve.”</p><p>          Sibella remembered that night, that half heard conversation in the parlor when she had been shoved into the bedroom. She had remembered Phoebe’s high voice, her tremble, her excitement, as well as Monty’s nervousness. Monty had lied to her and said that Phoebe had wanted to talk about horses, a familiar lie she knew all too well. After all she had used Lionel’s excuse of going to Newmarket to talk of breeding horses that fateful night at Highhurst because she had accidentally let it slip that Monty would be in attendance, and Lionel had blustered that he would not be in the same room as the man that his wife pays too much attention and admiration to. </p><p>          “How enterprising of you!” Sibella complimented, wanting to have her hands released from Phoebe’s grip. </p><p>          “It wasn’t conventional, but nothing in my life has been conventional, so I didn’t see a problem with it. Neither did Monty.”</p><p>          Phoebe then laxed her grip on Sibella’s hands and Sibella slid them to rest on her skirt.</p><p>          “My parents would have liked him, Henry liked him very much before he passed. We would have had such a happy life had it not been for that horrid accusation.”</p><p>          Yes, Monty would have had a happy life had it not been for that damned inspector, and foul play suspected. </p><p>          Phoebe’s bottom lip trembled, but she forced a smile in Sibella’s direction. Sibella pretended to glance out of the window while Phoebe wiped a few tears from her eyes.</p><p>          Finally the carriage stopped. </p><p>          “Oh good, we’re here!” Phoebe’s voice turned animated and excited once more, far from the serious tone that it had just taken a few minutes prior. </p><p>          Sibella immediately felt a pit of anxiety form in her stomach. Children were not her forte, what had she been thinking when she agreed to this?</p><p>          The footman opened the carriage door, extending a hand for Phoebe first, and after Phoebe had climbed down, a hand appeared to Sibella. She took it and climbed down from the carriage, feeling and hearing the crunch of the frost underneath her boots. The bitter cold shocked her for a moment, she had forgotten on the journey here, exactly how bone chilling it was this early December day. She felt confused as the footman left her to retrieve the boxes of hats and gloves from the end of the carriage, and found Phoebe already amidst the clergymen and the children. A crowd had flocked to her, as Countess of the village, of course they flocked to her. But it wasn’t just out of sheer duty and admiration for her post, Sibella noticed that the people, especially the children, genuinely loved and enjoyed Phoebe. </p><p>          Phoebe noticed that Sibella had been left a few paces behind, and excused herself from the crowd to go over to her. </p><p>          “Would you mind helping me hand out the coats and gloves to the children? I’ve instructed Samson to bring them out, but I thought it might be more cheerful if you and I gave them to the children?”</p><p>          She barely gave Sibella time to reply before handing her a box filled to the brim with little coats and pairs of gloves. Phoebe took her own box, settled on one side of her hips, and made her way back to the crowd, simultaneously engaging with the children, and holding a conversation with the clergymen. </p><p>          Sibella could see how the people loved Phoebe. She was a natural Countess, a genuine caring and compassionate woman. She reminded Sibella of those fairytale princesses she used to read about, the ones whom animals and children flocked to, the ones who were so sugary sweet and nice to everyone. Sibella had found herself more resembling those evil stepsisters or the women who schemed to get what they wanted, only to be foiled in the end. </p><p>          But, by going with Phoebe, she was at least taking a step towards becoming a better person. </p><p>          She took a breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs before she summoned up the courage and energy to go around to the children and pass out coats and gloves.</p><p>          Phoebe had already seen to it that the large group of children around her had been given gloves and hats. Sibella wondered how in the world she had managed that so quickly. The lingering children to Sibella’s left stood in groups or pairs, and some by themselves, barefoot or with shoddy shoes on the frozen ground amidst the churchyard. </p><p>          Sibella couldn’t remember the last time she had been in a church, perhaps it had been her wedding day. She wasn’t one for religion, never had been. She had liked the songs well enough, and had wanted in her youth to be the Mother Mary in the Nativity play that their church put on every year, but nothing had captured her attention in terms of religion and devotion to it. </p><p>          Charity and piety had never been her forte. </p><p>          “Hello there,” she forced herself to say cheerfully as she came upon two children, two young boys, who shuffled against one another in their ragged clothes. “Would you like some warm gloves and a coat? It’s rather cold out…” She wasn’t sure what else to say. The boys looked at her warily, and Sibella wished she had worn something simpler. She had gone for a rather simple coat, but it was still a dark maroon with detailed stitching, and her gloves, her fine black leather gloves that matched her hat, screamed wealthy to these children. </p><p>          She held out the box to them, wanting them to choose. They stared for a moment, and then the elder boy reached it, grabbing a pair of red mittens and a black coat hastily, putting the coat over his slim frame, and the gloves on his hands, rubbing them together for warmth. The other boy glanced up at Sibella after seeing his friend put on the gloves and coat, and gave her a small toothy smile. Sibella couldn’t help but smile back.</p><p>          “Thank you mum,” he said joyfully, taking a pair of green gloves and a brown coat. </p><p>          Sibella gave him a warm smile as she straightened her posture. She moved on to another set of children, this time, two young girls. Two girls with long brown hair, tangled and frizzy. </p><p>          She paused for a moment. It had been a long time since she found herself face to face with children, she usually only saw them in passing or in brief, fleeting moments, but never had prolonged time with them.</p><p>          She wondered in that moment, what her own children would look like, if she so chose to have them. Would they be an exact replica of herself? Or if they would be like Lionel? She had always envisioned herself as having children with Monty, with some sort of mixture of her and Monty’s features. His curls reflected in their hair, her nose, her cheekbones of course, but Monty’s eager demeanor, and of course both of their blue eyes. Either fair haired or dark locks would be fine with her, but she always imagined her children to be half of Monty, half herself. The realization that her children might have some resemblance to Lionel startled her. Of course Lionel did have good looks, Sibella had always been a terrible snob, attracted to people she deemed worthy and handsome. But it was more of his character she was afraid of her children inheriting. </p><p>          She swallowed hard, trying to brush away those thoughts from her head. The two girls paid her no mind, fawning over their newly acquired gloves and coats. </p><p>          The children then ran inside the church, after the instructions of the pastor.</p><p>          Phoebe waited for her outside the threshold, on the little stone path that was before the entrance of the church.</p><p>          “Well that seemed like it was a success. I shall have to endeavor to bring more the next time I come,” Phoebe mused quietly as Samson came to take away the empty boxes from Sibella and Phoebe’s arms. </p><p>          “How many are there?” Sibella voiced softly, sneaking a glance into the church, the door had blown open by a fierce wind.</p><p>          Phoebe paused before answering, her forehead scrunched.</p><p>          “I believe the last count was forty-five. Most of them under the age of ten.”</p><p>          “Forty-five?” Sibella was convinced that she misheard.</p><p>          “Yes, most of them are at the orphanage, the younger ones at least. I believe the age to participate in the show is six, or eight. Everyone else stays at the orphanage but they come to see it once the play is put on.”</p><p>          “Forty-five,” Sibella repeated softly, almost shuddering at the thought. Forty-five children without parents, without a home, left on their own.</p><p>          “There was a horrid sickness that spread through the village last year, most of them had parents who perished. The poor dears stay at the orphanage and if they’re lucky enough, they get adopted.”</p><p>          Sibella swallowed the question on her tongue, not thinking it appropriate to ask, but Phoebe seemed to sense what she was thinking.</p><p>          “If they don’t get adopted, sometimes they get asked to work for the church, or apprentice someone in the village. Usually some sort of trade, if they turn eighteen and are still alone.”</p><p>          “I have half a mind to set up a school,” Phoebe continued after a moment. “Some place they could call home, something to help.”</p><p>          “That would be very generous,” Sibella remarked.</p><p>          Phoebe stole a glance into the packed church, the children all excited for their parts and lines, and a small, sad smile crossed her face.</p><p>          “Henry and I might have ended up in a place like where they live now, if it had not been for our parent’s fortune and our family name. We had people to take care of us, to check on us, to make sure we weren’t alone, they didn't. They have no one except themselves and what kind of societal figure would I be if I left them alone, when I’m in a position to help. I confess it hasn’t been at the forefront of my mind, with what happened with Monty, but once things… settle, I’d like to help.”</p><p>          “I think that’s incredibly admirable,” Sibella mused.</p><p>          “It’s the least I can do,” Phoebe replied, returning her gaze back to Sibella. She slid an arm through Sibella’s, linking them gently.</p><p>          “Shall we?”</p><p>          They went into the church together, the children once again crowding around Phoebe in a cluster, all excitedly shouting over one another to tell her what part they had received, or how much they liked their new coats and gloves. Sibella faded into the background, willingly letting Phoebe take center stage.</p><p>          For a moment, she felt sad. Sad that she was here, in this moment with Phoebe, and not Monty. Sad that he would never see her live as his Countess. </p><p>          But as soon as the feelings came, they soon went, and Sibella suddenly felt glad. She had made the right decision to come with Phoebe today, the threats from Lionel be damned. </p><p>          A smile came over her face then, a real genuine smile as she stood in the corner of the little church, watching the children gather around Phoebe, and Sibella felt the happiest she had felt in months.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Small Fires</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Thirteen: Small Fires</em>
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</p><p> </p><p>          She should have known that it would have happened sooner or later. To think that Lionel would be forever ignorant to her frequent visits to Highhurst Castle was simply idiotic. She had hoped, however, that the truth would have been able to be hidden from his view for a bit longer.</p><p>          Lionel became aware of her visits to Highhurst because of their carriage driver, who had innocently inquired to Mr. Holland one night, that if Mrs. Holland was to be going to Highhurst Castle so often and frequently, if she might prefer the motorcar over the carriage, due to the roads being rough on the carriage wheels. </p><p>          Sibella didn’t blame the man. How could he have known that she was keeping her visits to Highhurst secret from her husband? </p><p>          Ironically, Sibella was kept secret to her husband’s fury and his knowledge of her visits until the next afternoon, when he returned home from work, and she had stayed home because Phoebe had sent a telegram saying that she had a horrible headache and pleaded to stave off their visit for another day. Sibella had obliged, after all, she did have her correspondences to respond to, and she could use a day at home to simply rest.</p><p>          Still, after the visit to the village, Sibella found herself restless to see Phoebe again. It had been enchanting almost, to see her amidst the throngs of those orphans, to see her take charge, to see her truly embody the role of the Countess of Highhurst. It was such a change from the wisp of a girl that she acted like around Sibella. In a way, it was charming. </p><p>          Sibella had never been charming. Delectable, delicate, conniving, clever, and so on, she vaguely recalled those harsh words Monty called her that one night, but never once charming. </p><p>          She supposed one had to be charming in order to be a Countess. </p><p>          Nevertheless, Sibella found herself anxious to see Phoebe once more, to visit those walls of the castle that had now become so familiar to her. </p><p>          After the sun had set and a fog descended around their neighborhood, Sibella allowed herself a glass of sherry. Sipping on it delicately, she sat in their parlor room, her correspondences laid out, ready to send to their butler. She had dressed simply today, seeing as she was just about the house. A simple frock, with a warm housecoat around her. She had even taken to braiding her hair in a plait, like she had seen Phoebe wear so many times. It was quite comfortable, and suitable for around the home. </p><p>          She was in the midst of unplaiting her hair, letting her curls fall gently back into place around her fingers when the door slammed and Lionel entered their house.</p><p>          Sibella jumped a little at the sound, and reached for her glass of sherry, taking a sip, letting it sit in her mouth before swallowing it, allowing the taste to engulf her senses.</p><p>          Lionel appeared before her, taking off his coat.</p><p>          “You’re early today,” she remarked, setting her glass back down, and fidgeting with the strings of her pale pink housecoat. The night air had brought in a terrible chill and she found herself freezing.</p><p>          “Have you been home all day?” He ignored her question, giving his coat to the butler and then shutting the door once he left. He went over to the table and poured himself a glass of sherry. </p><p>          “Yes, I was catching up on my correspondence. I’ve written to my brother, and Daisy Greville as well.”</p><p>          “Martin mentioned something to me the other day,” he nearly cut her off, his tone stern, and Sibella felt a pit growing in her stomach.</p><p>          Her fingers once again played with her hair.</p><p>          “Oh? And what did Martin say?”</p><p>          Martin was their driver, and Sibella could only guess what he had told Lionel.</p><p>          “He asked,” Lionel turned around to face her, eyes dark, gulping down a good portion of his sherry before he continued, “if you might like the motorcar on your frequent trips to Highhurst seeing as the roads are far too rough for the carriage.”</p><p>          Sibella inevitably paled at that, the pit in her stomach nearing swallowing her whole.</p><p>          Lionel stood there, glass of sherry in hand, waiting for an answer. </p><p>          “I merely called on her as courtesy, she requested my presence. I thought you would be-” Sibella felt like a child being caught about a lie.</p><p>          “You know very well my feelings on associating with a convicted criminal’s widow, and I didn’t think that I needed to repeat myself to you once more. Martin says you have gone there at least once per week since the middle of October!”</p><p>          A vein in his forehead had exposed itself as Lionel’s face turned red.</p><p>          “I found it hard to refuse a Countess of her position-”</p><p>          “Her position?” Lionel laughed cruelly, “She has no position. Your charity is all she has, my dear. She has nothing except a ruined name, a dead husband, and a decaying castle in her keep.”</p><p>          “Why you? Why does she insist on you?” Lionel asked, gripping the back of the armchair a few feet away from her when she said nothing to his previous statement.</p><p>          “I was a friend of Montague’s, she feels as though we are the only ones who-”</p><p>          “Ah, so it is a woman’s sentimental feelings that has her inviting you over and over again. Some sort of connection to her dead husband.” Lionel scoffed into his drink, a scowl on his face. “Ridiculous, is what it is.”</p><p>          “Surely there’s no harm in me going, I knew you disapproved so I did not tell you.”</p><p>          “Yes, you have quite the habit of not telling me when you do things that I disapprove of,” he snapped, and again Sibella jumped at the harshness in his tone. </p><p>          “It’s charity, Lionel. Nothing more,” Sibella lied.</p><p>          He glared at her.</p><p>          “I want an end to it. Now. If it’s charity you want, go and give food to some orphans. But leave that wretched castle and that ruined Countess out of it!”</p><p>          “And if I refuse?”</p><p>          Even she was shocked by the boldness of her protest. She paled immediately after she had spoken those words, and got even paler when Lionel stalked towards her, gripping under her chin just so that she was forced to look into his gaze, his nails just slightly digging into her skin.</p><p>          She squirmed, trying to evade his grasp, but he held on tight.</p><p>          “I forbid it. You are not to see the Countess again. Ever. If I hear of Martin taking you to the castle once more, I shall have you locked in your room. And then children will come and you’ll be far too busy to even think about that Countess and her fate anymore.”</p><p>          Sibella steeled her gaze and looked directly at him, not once showing the shades of fear that laid underneath her skin. </p><p>          She said nothing. No word of acceptance, or of protest. Just silence.</p><p>          Lionel seemed to realize that after a few moments that silence was all he was going to get, and he let go of her chin. </p><p>          Sibella immediately rubbed a hand at the area, trying to ease the soreness. </p><p>          She didn’t realize that he left the room until the sound of the door slamming echoed in her ears, and Sibella felt herself relax in the simmering silence. </p><p>          She finished off her sherry, and took her correspondences into her hands, all the while breathing calmly.</p><p>          She knew she should be more unnerved by her husband’s threat to lock her away in her room if she disobeyed him. She knew she should be more frightened, more careful, but she wasn’t.</p><p>          True, she had felt fear when Lionel had gripped her chin and she thought he might strike her. She wasn’t afraid of the pain, no, she could handle the pain, but it would be trying to hide the bruise from everyone, trying to keep up the appearance that her husband hadn’t hit her that struck fear in her. </p><p>          She wondered as she crept up the stairs to her own bedroom, locking the door for good measure, how in the world she was going to manage keeping in contact with Phoebe?</p><p>          She had no plans to never see the other woman again, in fact, Lionel’s forbiddance had only made her want to see Phoebe even more. A petty motivation, yes, but as Monty had said to her that day before he was executed, no one would ever expect Sibella Hallward to bend to the whims of Lionel Holland for the rest of her life. </p><p>          It wasn’t in her nature, and his anger towards her relationship with Phoebe only made Sibella act out of spite, and wanted to anger him more.</p><p>          Tomorrow, she would write a letter to the Countess, explaining what had happened with Lionel. She’d slip it in between her other letters, and ask that when Phoebe replied, she would not write a return address, so that if Lionel dared to go through the mail, he would not know who the letter was from unless he opened it. </p><p>          Perhaps she and the Countess could meet somewhere else, Sibella was sure that Phoebe would come up with something clever.</p><p>          As she put on her nightgown, and finally undid the rest of her hair from its braids, she paused for a moment.</p><p>          Was she really doing all of this because it was what Monty had asked of her? Was she simply fulfilling Monty’s last wish for she and Phoebe to become friends, out of duty, out of love for him or was she trying to keep this friendship alive because of something else?</p><p>          She wasn’t sure of the answer. She could no longer tell what her motivations in life were anymore, not since Monty had passed. Everything had become muddled, grey, and hazy. </p><p>          But Sibella knew that her visits to see Phoebe brought her some semblance of joy, under the false pretenses that their relationship had begun under, and she had so very little joy in her life nowadays. </p><p>          Sibella Hallward would not let Lionel ruin her small moments of joy, consequences be damned.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Flat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Fourteen: The Flat</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>          A series of letters passed between herself and Phoebe for a week or so right under Lionel’s nose. </p><p>          Sibella made sure that Lionel was never to get within grasp of these letters and so she personally waited for the postman to show up at their door, and directly took the mail from him, placing Lionel’s letters on his desk, and reading her own back in the solace of her room.</p><p>          Explaining the situation in full had been tricky. Balancing between telling Phoebe the truth, and yet not wanting to offend her by Lionel’s baseless and boorish accusations and claims that Phoebe’s title and castle had no significance anymore. </p><p>          Sibella had written many, many drafts until she found a way to phrase what had happened in a way that was delicate and careful to omit any offense.</p><p>          Phoebe responded kindly, wanting as well to continue their friendship but not wanting to directly disobey Sibella’s husband.</p><p>          As such, a plan was formed. </p><p>          They would take separate carriages to Monty’s former flat in London, and meet there. At least for now. Lionel would not question her going into town, and Sibella would make sure the driver would drop her off a good way away from the flat lest he be suspicious.</p><p>          December 17th was the day of their meeting, and Sibella woke up feeling strangely wicked and devilish at the prospect of meeting with Phoebe right under Lionel’s nose. She kissed him goodbye on the cheek when he left for work, a gesture that even Lionel seemed bewildered by, and then got dressed, saying that she was going into town to purchase Christmas presents.</p><p>          A reminder from Lionel not to exceed their budget was called out from the other room, but Sibella barely heard him as she went upstairs to dress.</p><p>          When she was finished, he was gone, and Sibella could no longer suppress the smile on her face. She asked Martin to be ready in ten minutes time and gave him the address of a shop located a street off from Monty’s old flat. </p><p>          When she was ready, she departed in the carriage, a smaller one compared to the other ladies and wives that she knew of, but still, at least she did not have to walk around town.</p><p>          Martin dropped her off just as the clock far off in town chimed to ring out eleven o’clock. Sibella thanked him and asked him to pick her up at this spot in an hour and a half’s time.</p><p>          Once the carriage disappeared down the street, Sibella started her walk to Monty’s flat. </p><p>          She had gone there, of course, the day after her honeymoon with Lionel, once they had returned from Florence.</p><p>          She had yearned for Monty then, yearned for his touch, his smile, his hands. Lionel had been… disappointing in comparison.</p><p>          She had been expecting marital bliss the entire week, conjugal ecstasy if she was being frank about it, and she had gotten nothing except harsh touches and aches. No pleasure, just duty.</p><p>          She remembered when she first laid eyes on this flat. It was far better than the shoddy place Monty and his Mother had lived in at Clapham. Far better than she thought Monty would ever get. </p><p>          She was pleased for him, of course, had been pleased for him, but bitter as well. He was moving up in the world while she was trapped by her wedding vows with Lionel.</p><p>          Besides, she had been genuinely pleased about the space and extra rooms. The parlor in particular had been a favorite of theirs, as had the bedroom.</p><p>          She had not been back here since, since Phoebe had proposed to Monty and the mess that had followed. </p><p>          Staring up at the building, Sibella rang the doorbell.</p><p>          It opened, and stupidly, Sibella expected to see Monty’s face, like she had before, when she came here after her trip to Florence, his eyes sparkling, his smile more of a smirk.</p><p>          Instead, Phoebe’s gentle eyes greeted her. </p><p>          “I’m so glad you could come,” she said to Sibella, opening the door wider, allowing Sibella entrance. “I feel terrible that I’ve caused such a strife between you and Mr. Holland, I never dreamed of doing that and….”</p><p>          She was rambling, again. Sibella only heard half of it.</p><p>          Truth be told, she was too stunned to really concentrate on what Phoebe was saying, being back here in the flat, it was as if Monty’s ghost was right behind her. Memories flooded her mind, good and bad ones, of their time together here. Her mouth went dry.</p><p>          It was as if they were playing out before her very eyes, the memories. Herself there, Monty poised over her, kissing her, and then in the stairwell, to the little room upstairs that was supposed to be for the servants, they had claimed that as well one afternoon. She saw the ghosts of herself and Monty running up the stairs, clasping onto one another like giddy children. </p><p>          Her eyes moved towards the hallway, the one connecting the parlor and the bedroom. She could have sworn she saw Monty there, standing in between the two spaces. More-so she remembered the argument they had in that hallway, the one when she had raised her voice and he stifled a hand to her mouth to quiet her and she nearly bit him out of anger. She still remembered how angry he had looked at her, and she herself had been so cross with him, she refused to come back for a whole week. </p><p>          It was strange, though. Now everything was covered with a while sheet. The furniture, the paintings had been taken down and wrapped, and curtains folded. </p><p>          But Sibella could still remember everything as it once had been.</p><p>          “Are you alright?” Phoebe’s firm hand was clasping her own, trembling one. </p><p>          Sibella put on a quick smile.</p><p>          “Yes, I am just a bit chilled. It gets colder by the day, and without the heat on,” she trailed off, and Phoebe nodded, understanding.</p><p>          “Yes, I’m so sorry. I pay the electricity bill just for maintenance, but I hardly ever come in here, I haven’t, so I saw no need to continue to pay for heating. I can see if there’s a spare coat, something left over, if you’d like.”</p><p>          Sibella swallowed. A spare coat of Monty’s draped over her shoulders would surely push her over the edge, as it was her eyes that got teary at the suggestion of it, and so she shook her head politely and took a deep breath.</p><p>          Walking around the flat, Sibella’s light footsteps could be heard. Phoebe remained where she was, inspecting the place.</p><p>          “Is Mr. Holland so terribly cross with you for visiting me so frequently?” she asked just as Sibella was about to peer underneath a white sheet at an armchair. </p><p>          “Lionel, he-” but Phoebe interrupted.</p><p>          “I can understand you know. The position I’m putting you in, and his as well. After all it’s not highly ideal that a wife of an aspiring politician goes to visit the widow of a convicted criminal. I understand if you cannot come as frequently as you have, but perhaps a few times, you could visit, or I could send the carriage out for you, so that Mr. Holland is unaware.”</p><p>          Sibella felt as if Phoebe was nearing the point and steeled herself for whatever it was.</p><p>          She turned back to look at Phoebe, with those wide, doe-like eyes, nearly in tears. </p><p>          “I have a box, of his things,” Phoebe suddenly got out through a thick voice, “The policemen gave it to me after, and I haven’t touched it since because I couldn’t bear it, and now with you, I, I didn’t dare open it on my own, and Auntie has no temperament for my tears and grief… I… I was hoping I could ask one last favor of you, if you could come and help me sort through his things?”</p><p>          Sibella’s gaze went misty for a bit. Her fingers curled around the back of the armchairs that she was near, almost causing her nails to tear the fabric.</p><p>          “I doubt Mr. Holland would allow it, but I-”</p><p>          “I can send a carriage for you. Patrick or Samson, tell them you’re to meet with someone else. A doctor’s appointment or whatever else you think might fool him if he should ask.”</p><p>          She was trembling, head to toe. Like a child who had just been drenched in icy water, and Sibella felt her heart-strings ache for Phoebe.</p><p>          For all her kindness and coolness that Sibella had seen the day prior, at the village, Phoebe D’ysquith was breaking down in front of her. Because Sibella was the only one she could break down in front of, the only one who would understand.</p><p>          Sibella’s throat felt thick. Air came in gasps for a few moments for both of them before Phoebe spoke again.</p><p>          “It’s mostly papers, I believe. Documents-, I’ve already donated most of his clothes because I just couldn’t stand to have them in the castle, hanging about, like he would come back,” Phoebe’s voice broke at that and she continued in sniffles, “I know I’ve asked so much of you already, Mrs. Holland, but I- I think I could bear it, if you were there to help me. After that if you want to be free of me, I wholly accept and understand, but I just- I need someone to-”</p><p>          “I’ll do it. What day should you like me to be there?” Sibella regained her composure while Phoebe was trying to stifle her sniffles. Sibella walked towards her slowly, afraid that if she came over too quickly, Phoebe would turn to dust. </p><p>          The poor dear was shaking, quivering with sobs, her face flushed, though she tried to hide it from Sibella. Gently, Sibella wrapped her arms around her, like a mother would a child. She felt as if it was the only thing she could do in that moment, the only thing she could give to Phoebe, was some sort of comfort. The smaller woman nearly fell against her, fully giving way to her tears, and Sibella just held her. Sometimes she stroked her hair, adjusted her grip, but Sibella held her until Phoebe had cried out all of her tears.</p><p>          She remained quiet, for there was nothing that she could say that would make this situation any better, nothing that could bring Monty back to either of them. </p><p>          It was strange, though, that Sibella was here comforting Phoebe. She couldn’t remember the last time she had ever comforted someone, embraced them like such. Perhaps Monty after his poor Mother’s death, but that felt like a lifetime ago.</p><p>          In her childhood, she had rarely been comforted or coddled. Her relationship with Cynthia usually resulted in one of them needing some form of comfort but never receiving it. She had only gone to Grahame once for comfort, to cry on his shoulder, but that had been it. </p><p>          Monty had sometimes let her cry into his chest, his hands in her hair, pressing light kisses to her forehead and nose, but those times that she had cried like that had been few and far between. </p><p>          Usually Sibella cried by herself until she was done, and then just resumed life as it had been beforehand. </p><p>          Phoebe’s sniffles slowly faded into even, calm breathing, and Sibella found herself pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Phoebe’s head, like Monty had done to her, and she thought she saw a flash of a smile on Phoebe’s face as she did so.</p><p>          “Now then, shall we pick out a day to go through those things?” Sibella mused softly in the lingering silence as Phoebe slowly moved away from her, wiping at her eyes with her fingers.</p><p>          “I-” Phoebe started, and Sibella could tell by the look on her face that she was going to start apologizing profusely.</p><p>          “There’s no need to apologize. You’ve been through so much, please don’t apologize for this.”</p><p>          Phoebe closed her mouth then, finally having stopped her tears. She fixed her hair for a moment, and tried to straighten, but her hands were still slightly trembling.</p><p>          “Thank you,” she whispered, glancing at Sibella once and then back down at the floor, as if she would start crying all over again if she looked at Sibella for too long.</p><p>          “You’re welcome,” Sibella replied, her heart aching for the other woman.</p><p>          Sibella then took a breath and began walking around the flat once more, as if nothing had ever happened, which was one of her specialties, pretending like things had never happened.</p><p>          “I hate to see this all covered up. He took such pride in this flat,” Sibella commented as she inspected a picture containing a portrait of his Mother. She wrapped it back up once she was done looking at it.</p><p>          “I agree, I hate that it’s been like this… since… but I don’t know what I am to do about this place. The landlord wants me to sell it, or rent it, but I don’t know… You’re right, he was so proud of this place,” Phoebe remarked. </p><p>          Sibella stole a glance at her. Her cheeks still held the appearance that she had been crying, certainly her eyes did, but other than that she seemed well composed once more. Her hands had stopped shaking.</p><p>          “Do you miss him?” </p><p>          Phoebe’s barely heard whisper took Sibella by surprise. Her breath caught in her throat. Her muscles tightened.</p><p>          “Everyday,” she found herself whispering back to Phoebe.</p><p>          Phoebe’s eyes glanced her way, lingered on her face for a moment, and then stared straight at the wall in front of them that was now filled with nothing but the old wallpaper. </p><p>          Finding the silence now unbearable, or perhaps she just needed some air, Sibella walked through the hallway into the bedroom, after all she knew her way around this flat perfectly well. She turned back once she crossed the threshold into the bedroom, and stared at Phoebe who was still in the parlor. </p><p>          Her chest tightened.</p><p>          Their positions, where they stood right now, were exactly the same ones they had assumed when Phoebe had proposed to Monty, and Sibella had been all but kept hidden in the bedroom. And yet so much had changed. The man that had literally and figuratively stood between them, vying for both of their affections was gone, and yet they both remained. </p><p>          Sibella found herself looking at Phoebe as she herself stood in the bedroom, while Phoebe roamed around the room. She had now all but hidden her signs of grief, except for her eyes, and walked around inspecting everything that Monty had left behind in the flat. Sibella assumed that he had meant to sell it, after the trial had he lived, but now it was stuck in Phoebe’s hands, and she wasn’t sure if she would be so quick to get rid of it.</p><p>          Getting rid of anything that had been associated with Monty seemed to reduce the poor woman to tears, she could not blame her for not selling this place just yet. She was surprised that Phoebe had already gone through his clothes, but she supposed that Phoebe had picked out a few to save, and the rest had gone to charity. There was no use in keeping all of it. The clothes would go unworn, a waste of such fabric. As would Monty’s other things, his papers, documents, mementos, it would all lay still as a graveyard. </p><p>          “Would the 21st do? Just before Christmas, that way we could get it done and over with.”</p><p>          Phoebe blinked, having forgotten what she had asked Sibella to prompt a date. She blinked again, a deep breath in.</p><p>          “Yes, I believe that would do.” she paused, “Oh-but what about your Christmas plans? When do you leave for Brighton?”</p><p>          “We won’t be leaving till the 24th, Lionel notoriously works up until the minute they let them out for Christmas.”</p><p>          “If the 21st works, then I would be delighted to have you over. Just for an hour, at least. I shan’t trouble you after that.”</p><p>          Sibella walked over to Phoebe then, neither of them had shed their coats, for it was quite cold in the empty flat. </p><p>          “I would be quite happy to join you, if you’d let me. And it’s no trouble at all. I want to help.”</p><p>          Phoebe looked surprised at that, and then her face broke out into a wide, genuine smile. Sibella returned it with the same temperament, knowing now that Lionel be damned, she enjoyed Phoebe’s company and would continue to visit.</p><p>          “But- Mr. H-”</p><p>          “What Mr. Holland doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I do believe your scheme of having Patrick or Samson come pick me up would do the trick. That way my driver wouldn’t be suspicious.”</p><p>          “And we have so many carriages, we can take one of the lesser used ones, that way it shouldn’t be recognized.”</p><p>          Phoebe stopped.</p><p>          “Sibella,” she paused, “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to cause a rift between you and your husband, and after all, you are his wife. I would just hate for you two to be unhappy because of me.”</p><p>          A wry smile came over Sibella’s face then, as to the reason she wasn’t quite sure.</p><p>          “Mr. Holland and I are already quite unhappy, I doubt this would change anything.”</p><p>          If her words shocked Phoebe, she kept it hidden very well. Musing back, Sibella probably should have just kept her mouth shut. Letting Phoebe onto the knowledge that her marriage was an unhappy one would only give way to rumors, to the suspicions that Sibella could have been Monty’s lover, and that would ruin it all, and yet. It felt good to let someone else know how unhappy she was in her marriage. </p><p>          Sibella knew she could trust Phoebe.</p><p>          “I’ll send a carriage then, on the 21st around 1 o’clock then. If that suits you?”</p><p>          Sibella nodded, smiling. “Of course, that would be perfect.”</p><p>          They both took one last look around the flat, as if they were each reliving their memories with Monty in this place, and then Phoebe shut off the lights, let Sibella and herself out, and locked the door.</p><p>          She bade goodbye to Sibella, and hailed down her carriage whilst Sibella began her walk back to the shop. She ended up picking up a few things quickly, she had gone here under the assumption of buying Christmas gifts, and then when Martin pulled up, she put on a smile of ease.</p><p>          “Did the shopping go well, my lady?” Martin asked as he helped into the carriage with a hand.</p><p>          “Yes, Martin, as a matter of fact, it did,” Sibella replied and settled herself into the carriage, taking a full, deep breath in and felt content.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Dooms Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Chapter Fifteen: Dooms Day</em>
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</p><p>           The 21st arrived quicker than Sibella anticipated. Her days had been filled trying to sort out everything for Christmas, the shopping, the cards, and the formalities of trying to decide what she would wear to her in-laws’. She had only half packed by the time the 21st had arrived.</p><p>          It was a harsh winter’s day, with the clouds threatening snow on the horizon, and Sibella eyed it warily as she entered the carriage to take her to Highhurst. She had left a note for Lionel, saying that she was going into town for an appointment.</p><p>          She had dressed warmly, in the coat she had worn to the village, with the same gloves to keep her hands warm. A modest gown of light pink had been chosen for today, pink with some white ribbons around the waist. Simple. Sibella had also plaited her hair on the ride to Highhurst, just like Phoebe had done so many times before.</p><p>          When they finally arrived, Patrick jumped down to help her out of the carriage as Gorby opened the front door, bowing slightly.</p><p>          “The Countess is in the parlor room, Mrs. Holland. Miss Shingle shall be up with some tea in a few minutes, would you be needing anything else?”</p><p>          “No, Gorby, I believe some tea will do the trick, thank you,” Sibella said as she handed off her coat and gloves to him.</p><p>          Sibella entered the castle, and immediately wished that she had kept her coat on. The cold stone walls only emulated the bitterness of the winter weather, and Sibella found herself walking quickly to the parlor room in order to feel some warmth.</p><p>          When she entered the room, she found Phoebe sitting in her blue armchair, a book in her hands. A fire had been started, and it crackled and grew, providing some warmth in the otherwise cold room.</p><p>          Phoebe looked up from her book, glasses poised on her face, giving Sibella a small smile as she closed the door to the parlor room.</p><p>          Sibella’s eyes surveyed the room, looking for the box of Monty’s possessions that Phoebe had talked so much about, but she found nothing of the sort in the room.</p><p>          Phoebe seemed to read her mind at that moment.</p><p>          “I’m having Shingle bring it in after our tea. But first, I wanted to show you the gallery. Monty’s portrait is finished, Jacques brought it over the other day and it’s just lovely, and I thought we could admire it before… before we go through his things.” Phoebe set her book and glasses aside.</p><p>          Sibella stopped in her walking. She had almost forgotten about the portrait. Phoebe had said nothing about it, and so it had slipped from her mind.</p><p>          “Of course, I should like to see it,” Sibella replied with a soft smile.</p><p>          She knew it would be painful, seeing a physical reminder of the man she had so loved, but the art enthusiast in her was intrigued to see how Monty would be portrayed in the portrait.</p><p>          Phoebe stood, and then linked arms with Sibella, the shawl on her shoulders drooping slightly. She had dressed in black once more, Sibella wondered if she would ever wear another color ever again, she doubted it. Phoebe’s grief for Monty was even more than her own.</p><p>          “Your hair is different,” Phoebe remarked quietly as they walked to the gallery.</p><p>          Sibella put a hand to her plaited hair and nearly blushed.</p><p>          “You’ve inspired me. I never once wore braids as a child, but I’ve found it quite nice lately. I do hope you don’t take offense.”</p><p>          “Not at all.”</p><p>          “It suits your face more than mine,” Sibella confessed, for it was true. On Sibella’s face, the braids were not distinguished, not dignified, they looked childish and lazy. Phoebe’s hair looked regal, like a medieval maiden of old with her hair plaited. The braid framed the right side of her face nicely.</p><p>          “I think it looks nice on you. It’s different.”</p><p>          “Lionel doesn’t agree, he thinks I look like a child,” Sibella involuntarily frowned.</p><p>          “I believe sometimes we all need to access our inner child every once in a while, the world is so harsh and cruel at times, why not act like a child if it brings you joy?”</p><p>          Phoebe smiled warmly at Sibella as they crossed into the gallery, and Sibella smiled in return.</p><p>          Sibella spotted Monty’s portrait immediately once they entered the gallery. It wasn’t hard to find amongst the aging and lackluster portraits of old, for the frame was shiny in gold leaf and new.</p><p>          Phoebe squeezed her arm tightly as they walked up to it.</p><p>          Sibella couldn’t take her eyes off of it.</p><p>          The painter, Jacques was his name, had done a wonderful job. He had captured Monty’s essence perfectly, so much so, that Sibella half expected Monty to break out into a smirk at Phoebe and herself. The face in particular had been exceptionally well done.</p><p>          Monty’s high cheekbones, and smile had been painted delicately, as well as the slight twinkle in his eyes. Everything was so well done that Sibella felt like she was looking at Monty himself and not a portrait. His Castillian features on display, and wearing his vest and coat tails of when he had been pronounced Earl of Highhurst, Sibella half wanted to break out into tears.</p><p>          “What do you think?” Phoebe inquired softly, still keeping Sibella’s arm linked in hers. Sibella wasn’t sure whether or not that was from her own peace of mind or Phoebe’s. Probably both.</p><p>          “It’s wonderful,” Sibella breathed, taking a step closer. “Brilliant, actually. Your man has done an excellent job.”</p><p>          “I thought so too. He really captured his essence, hasn’t he?”</p><p>          “Yes,” Sibella’s eyes flickered to Monty’s painted eyes, “Yes he has.”</p><p>          “I can’t thank you enough for the idea, I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before, but then again, my mind has been so muddled these past few months, but I am so glad I commissioned this portrait.” Phoebe gave her a soft smile.</p><p>          Sibella turned to look at her.</p><p>          “You don’t need to thank me, I’m sure you would have come up with the idea yourself in a matter of time.”</p><p>          Phoebe blushed. “I don’t know about that, but thank you, Sibella.”</p><p>          Sibella smiled at her, realizing that they had now changed from their formal titles to their Christian names. It felt odd, but welcoming.</p><p>          “Shall we go back to the parlor? I’ve asked for tea, and Monty’s things.”</p><p>          Phoebe glanced at Monty’s portrait before turning to look at Sibella for confirmation. She nodded, and they started back towards the parlor, with their arms still linked.</p><p>          When they arrived at the parlor, tea had already been set for them, and the box of Monty’s things, labeled in a scrawny handwriting as “The Earl of Highhurst”, possibly by a policeman, had been placed on the table near the armchairs.</p><p>          They both subconsciously avoided directly looking at the box as they sipped on their tea quietly, each woman taking a glance at the cardboard box on the table when she thought the other wasn’t looking.</p><p>          “I think a winter storm is on its way,” Sibella found herself remarking on the weather to fill the silence.</p><p>          “Yes, it did look quite hazardous when I woke up this morning. I’m so glad we dropped off those coats and gloves when we did, Father Thomas usually keeps the parish open during the winter months so that anyone in need can come in and get warm, but having coats and gloves helps stop the frostbite.”</p><p>          “I’m surprised the children haven’t taken to calling you Saint Phoebe, you are so generous with your time and possessions,” Sibella remarked with a smile.</p><p>          Phoebe grinned softly, “I’m hardly a saint, and my parents taught us to always help those less fortunate.” She paused. “I took that lesson slightly more seriously than Henry did, he was always getting into little fights with the locals over land, or horses, or some trivial matter in Salisbury, but underneath it all, he was kind to them. He just enjoyed some high tempers now and then.”</p><p>          “Do you have horses in Salisbury?”</p><p>          “Yes, a man not too far from our cottage had a stable with the most beautiful horses I’ve ever seen. I used to ride them sometimes, when I could. The man’s daughter was around twelve or so, and she was just darling. She used to saddle up one of the horses for me when I wanted to go riding.”</p><p>          “You read, you garden, you go riding, my goodness, what a full education you’ve had, is there something else you’ve been holding out from the world? I assume you can sing? Sketching perhaps?” Sibella teased slightly, if only to avoid going through Monty’s things for a bit longer.</p><p>          For every time her eyes flickered towards the box, her stomach twisted into a knot and ached.</p><p>          Phoebe laughed, “I’m sure your own education encompasses much of the same. True, my upbringing wasn’t exactly formal, but it did provide me with the basics.”</p><p>          “I have never been riding in my life,” admitted Sibella, and Phoebe giggled before she took a sip of her tea.</p><p>          They were both stalling, and they both knew it.</p><p>          “And I’m a terrible artist, I’ll have you know. I may have a sense of color but my drawings always look like that of a child’s,” Phoebe interjected, “And never? Not once?”</p><p>          “I was a snobbish child, I didn’t want my dresses to get all wrinkled.”</p><p>          Phoebe let out a half laugh, and resumed drinking her tea.</p><p>          Sibella glanced at the clock. It was nearly two now. They had stalled long enough.</p><p>          “Is that… everything?” She asked into the silence. For a few moments she didn’t receive an answer.</p><p>          Phoebe’s face paled, and she lowered her tea cup from her lips with trembling hands.</p><p>          “I’m afraid so. He didn’t have much, he wasn’t allowed much in the prison. And since the arrest happened so quickly after his ascension to Earldom, he hadn’t gotten much, besides clothes.”</p><p>          “He never had much to begin with, that place that he lived with his Mother was terribly small, and always quite bare because they couldn’t afford anything,” Sibella said softly.</p><p>          “I believe these are the items he deemed most precious, hence why I asked you to help. I only knew the story of his past, you lived with it, with him, knew him.” Phoebe paused, “I only ask you to help me identify items, to see if you recognize them.”</p><p>          The knot in her stomach tightened, but Sibella tried to ignore it.</p><p>          She could do that. Identify things. Tell Phoebe who they had belonged to from Monty’s past.</p><p>          She nodded, “Of course. I’m willing to help, however you need me.”</p><p>          Phoebe’s hands shook slightly, and her face somehow turned even paler, but she took a deep breath, and walked over to the box that sat on the table. Sibella followed quietly, setting her tea cup down by the armchair and leaving it for Shingle to take away.</p><p>          The box wasn’t large. Nor had it been well kept, tears and holes could be seen from the top and sides. It was as if they had tossed Monty’s things into a room and left it to collect dust until Phoebe had come to claim it.</p><p>          Phoebe lifted the cover off gently, pulling it a bit at the end for one of the corners seemed to be stuck.</p><p>          They both looked down at the box.</p><p>          At first, their eyes mostly saw papers.</p><p>          Sibella scanned them quickly, her eyes catching some of the words on the pages as Phoebe lifted them out one by one so that they could inspect them.</p><p>          The first set of papers were written in a hand that Sibella barely recognized. A hand that had worked to the bone to provide for her son, and yet still managed to create a delicate handwriting upon the page. Isobel’s letters, to her family, to Monty’s father. The letters to her family had been sent back to Isobel with no reply, a clear sign that no one from the family wanted to associate with her, the letters in Isobel’s hand not even opened, just shoved into an envelope, telling the post to send it back.</p><p>          The letters to Monty’s father had replies with them, according to the order in the correspondences, letters from when Isobel had still been with the family, when they had found out about her romance, when she had asked him what she should do after realizing she was pregnant.</p><p>          Sibella read them eagerly, for she had never seen these before, never even heard of them until Monty had come to her door that day and pronounced that he was actually a D’ysquith.</p><p>          After finishing them, she set them aside, so that Phoebe could read them later. For it was true that Phoebe was interested in what happened with Isobel, but that was not her primary focus of going through the box today. The letters could be read another day, at another time.</p><p>          The next items in the box were the letters that Monty had written to the D’ysquith, namely the one he had sent to Asquith D’ysquith Jr. and then the senior. After those letters had been retrieved, then came the official documents.</p><p>          His birth certificate, claiming legitimacy to his claim to the D’ysquith name through his mother. The deed to Monty’s flat in town, the one that he had earned when he had become a stockbroker with Asquith D’ysquith Sr. The name had been changed, an addendum put on sometime during Monty’s time in prison, that Phoebe was now the legal owner of the property if Monty should pass.</p><p>          It felt strange to hold these things in her hands, knowing that Monty had held them at one point, or at least pressed his pen into them to sign such documents. Sibella lightly traced the indent of his signature with her finger absentmindedly.</p><p>          Her eyes glanced over to Phoebe, who had retrieved a leather bound, brown tome from the box.</p><p>          Sibella’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at it, she recognized that somehow. Her mind put the pieces together, yes it was the book Monty had out on his little writing desk in the jail. She had not known what it contained then, and she knew no more now, but she allowed Phoebe to look at it first.</p><p>          Phoebe still hadn’t opened it, as if she knew that it had been something personal, sacred to her husband and did not want to pry on his privacy.</p><p>          “A journal, do you think?” Sibella voiced her question softly as Phoebe simply held the tome in her hands, fingers twitching.</p><p>          “I believe so, yes. I thought I saw it on his desk, on the eve before… I thought I’d heard him say that he wanted it burned after he was gone though, I thought that’s what he said while I was leaving.”</p><p>          “Why would he want it burned?” Sibella’s mouth turned into a slight frown. She had never known Monty to keep anything from anyone, he so often wore his heart on his sleeve, especially around her.</p><p>          A thought occurred to her then.</p><p>          Perhaps the book contained details of her affair with him, secrets that Monty wanted to keep from his wife. Her stomach churned horribly then, and she felt ill.</p><p>          An even worse thought then appeared in her head but she dared not to even think on such things. She pushed the thought aside.</p><p>          “I don’t know. I don’t know if I should look at it,” Phoebe said, setting it down, and wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders.</p><p>          Sibella felt some relief at that, although she still felt anxious to know what the book contained.</p><p>          “Another time, perhaps,” Sibella said encouragingly, and Phoebe gave her a soft smile.</p><p>          Sibella looked back through the letters then while Phoebe went to move the box since they had cleared it out.</p><p>          So enraptured was she in the letters and documents, that Sibella didn’t see that Phoebe accidentally knocked the tome off of the table, onto the floor, the book splitting open to a random page of Monty’s clean, crisp handwriting.</p><p>          No, Sibella remained oblivious to the fact that Phoebe’s nervous hands were now perusing through Monty’s diary, seeing as that she had seen her own name in his handwriting on the page.</p><p>          That is, Sibella remained oblivious until Phoebe gasped so loudly Sibella thought she had been struck or had stumbled into something.</p><p>          When Sibella looked up from the letters, she saw an entirely different Phoebe than she had ever encountered before.</p><p>          This Phoebe, she looked like a shell of a girl. Face ashen, no color to be seen in her cheeks, eyes wide and seemed to be brimming with tears, but Sibella could not tell whether it was grief, or fury that was now splayed across Phoebe’s features. Her hands trembled every once in a while, nearly threatening to drop the book to the floor but she kept her grasp, and turned the pages, every time she did so, looking like she would be sick right then and there.</p><p>          “... Phoebe…?” Sibella quickly set the letters down, and took one step towards the Countess, her own heart pounding.</p><p>          Phoebe took two trembling steps back, eyes still glued to whatever Monty had written on the page.</p><p>          Sibella’s stomach turned once more. She had half a mind to rip the book from Phoebe’s hands and throw it into the burning fire, never to have anyone else’s eyes on it again.</p><p>          She feared the worst, that the diary contained intimate details of her affair with Monty, and that with each word, that by reading each passage Phoebe’s hatred for her grew more and more.</p><p>          Her feet felt stuck to the carpet, unable to move. She wanted to cross the room to where Phoebe stood, trembling, but she stood next to the table, frozen.</p><p>          She could feel that the fear was displayed across her face, Sibella felt it in her cheeks, in the firm line her mouth made, pressing down hard so that she would not say another word. Her breathing came in sharp intakes through her nose.</p><p>          Phoebe’s face, ashen and crumbling, looked up at her with eyes of unguarded fury, and Sibella knew. In the next moment, tears fell from the Countess’s eyes and without warning, she let the book drop from her grasp and bolted out of the room muffled cries following her, the parlor door swinging wide as she left.</p><p>          As if Phoebe’s presence had been the thing keeping her frozen in time, as soon as she left, Sibella moved quickly towards the tome that Monty had written in so much, she picked it up off the floor,  her eyes scanning the pages furiously for what truth had laid within them.</p><p>          What Monty had written, what he had confessed to, shocked her to her core. Although she processed it in bits and pieces, phrases that he had written here and there, still Sibella understood the basics of it, how could she not; when Monty had all but declared his memoirs to be “a gentleman’s guide to love and murder” on the first page.</p><p>          The love part did not surprise her, although part of her wanted to smack him for including what details he did write about during his courtship with Sibella, and then the affair. She knew those parts so she did not read as slowly through those.</p><p>          But the murder…</p><p>          My God, the murder sections stunned her.</p><p>          She couldn’t take them all in at face value, for Monty had written in specific detail how he had killed each one of them off in a manner designed specifically catered to their personalities lest it be suspicious.</p><p>          Phrases such as “I pushed The Good Lord Reverend Ezekial from his beloved tower,” and “Although I do regret it, I set Henry’s bees on him in the gardens” spun in her head, for of course she heard them aloud in Monty’s own, clear voice.</p><p>          Each one had a confession with it. An admittance to the fact that yes, he had killed most of the D’ysquiths, and yet, Monty still denied killing Lord Adalbert.</p><p>          Sibella’s world spun, she felt violently ill.</p><p>          What was worse that he had placed it all on her. Or at least that’s what she assumed in her anger, panicked state of mind as she read the memoirs. He claimed, in his own words, to have killed for her, in order to secure the Earldom so that Sibella would marry him, and that he could provide for her. But then that Sibella had gone and gotten engaged, and Phoebe had found a way into his life.</p><p>          She hated him at that moment. Hated him more than Lionel, hated him more than herself.</p><p>          God, he had actually taken her seriously when she said that eight people would have to die in order for him to become Earl, he had taken that as motivation!</p><p>          She nearly got sick then, jutting out a hand to steady her as it gripped the table lightly.</p><p>          Good God, this was her fault. She had drove him to this, she had drove him to murder all because she hadn’t accepted him when he was poor.</p><p>          She had never thought him capable of murder, except once. That night in his flat, when he had gripped her so tightly and stared right through her was the only time she had ever been truly afraid of him, that she thought he might hurt her, but nothing before or after that.</p><p>          Even during the trial she had stood beside him. She maintained his innocence as had Phoebe, and now… to find out that he had committed those murders even if he claimed to be innocent of Lord Adalbert’s death, to read such things, made her question everything.</p><p>          Her head snapped up as she heard footsteps coming towards her. Not knowing whether it would be Phoebe approaching her to hate her or someone else, Sibella tried to appear calm, although she was terribly flustered and felt so very sick.</p><p>          Her mind tried to think of things to say if Phoebe appeared through the door, apologies, pleading for forgiveness, accepting whatever punishment Phoebe thought fit, but it was not Phoebe who walked through the door.</p><p>          Gorby appeared, stern and strict as usual, although Sibella could tell just from his demeanor that his previous polite tone with her was now gone, and a formal, cold one had taken its place.</p><p>          “Mrs. Holland, it appears the Countess has fallen ill, and she has asked me to have you leave the premises immediately. She is no longer available to continue this visit, nor any others.”</p><p>          Sibella let out a shaky breath. She had been expecting that.</p><p>          She set down the memoirs with trembling hands, and tried to remain calm and collected but she could tell by the way Gorby eyed her that she was anything but.</p><p>          “Might I take a carriage?” she got out, aware that her voice was shaking, like her throat had been torn to shreds.</p><p>          “I’m afraid not. “ Gorby’s eyes dipped to his feet, as if he felt sorry for her, “The Countess said you may call upon your husband to come get you.”</p><p>          Sibella closed her eyes tightly for a minute at that. She wanted to laugh, but only a slight, dark chuckle escaped her lips.</p><p>          It was all turning out how she had thought it would. Once Phoebe had known the truth, she would be cordial but cold to Sibella and not gentle and warm like Monty had wanted her to be.</p><p>          Sibella wished that the damn police officer had gone through with Monty’s last request and burned the damn thing so that things could have continued as they had been between herself and Phoebe. But she knew that the truth of her affair would have reached Phoebe at some point.</p><p>          She just hated that it happened like this. No wonder the poor girl looked like such a fright, to not only find out that her husband was not faithful to her, sleeping with a married woman nonetheless, but that said husband also killed most of her own family members.</p><p>          Pushing those thoughts from her head, she focused on the problem at hand; getting home.</p><p>          She would have to bite the bullet and telegram Lionel for either the carriage or the motorcar, and with the snow now falling steadily on the ground outside, she decided on asking for the car. She grabbed a pen and wrote out a note, folded it, and asked Gorby to send it to her husband in Newmarket.</p><p>          He obliged, and left her alone in the parlor room, with the fire now dwindling to nothing but smoking ashes.</p><p>          She did not dare look at the memoirs again, she didn’t think she could stomach anymore. If she never laid eyes on those pages ever again, she’d be grateful.</p><p>          Sibella couldn’t even contemplate the fury that her husband would place upon her once she was home, her head was still trying to grasp at what she had just learned, at the truth she had just discovered.</p><p>          Her Monty had killed… for her.</p><p>          She supposed he had wanted her to be grateful, if he had lived to eventually tell her, grateful that he had done such things for her affection and for her affection alone.</p><p>          But Sibella didn’t feel grateful, she didn’t feel any happiness or joy or satisfaction upon learning that Monty had killed eight people, or so people claimed, in order to earn a title to be worthy of her affection.</p><p>          She lowered herself into an armchair, breathing heavily. Her head had begun to hurt most terribly, and she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and hope that this whole day had been just a terrible nightmare.</p><p>          How much time had passed between her giving Gorby the telegram for Lionel until now, Sibella could not tell. The grandfather clock ticked away, but she could no longer acknowledge or process the passage of time.</p><p>          Her mind still whirled as she tried to piece together the awful truth in her head.</p><p>          Anger and regret were the main emotions she was feeling. A terrible, gnawing regret ate away at her heart piece by piece.</p><p>          The chance of a friendship with Phoebe was forever lost now. Sibella didn’t blame her one bit.</p><p>          While waiting for a response from Lionel, she sat there in the armchair agitated, and undid her hair from its plait, running her fingers through the curls letting them unfold from their confines absentmindedly.</p><p>          When Gorby did finally arrive in the parlor once more, Sibella jumped as soon as he entered the room, opening the door wide. Her hands still lay in her hair, and she was sure she looked a fright.</p><p>          He handed Lionel’s response to her without a word, turning sharply and leaving, the door slamming shut behind him.</p><p>          She opened the telegram quickly, her fingers leaving her hair. She gulped as she scanned the words written on the page.</p><p>          She had asked for the motorcar because of the snow, and the ice, which now, she judged by glancing outside the window at the gardens of Highhurst, was turning into an even worse storm and perilous ride home.</p><p>          Lionel’s reply:</p><p>          I shall send the carriage. We will talk of this when you come home.</p><p>          She inhaled sharply, the fear now returning to her bones about Lionel’s fury at her for once again going to Highhurst. She had to say where she was, otherwise how would he know where to find her? She wasn’t about to walk in this storm, not in her shoes and light coat.</p><p>          To hail a cab down in this weather was downright impossible.</p><p>          She was stuck begging her husband for transportation home, and she hated it. But this was the hole that she had dug herself into.</p><p>          As there was nothing else to do, she couldn’t bring herself to grovel for forgiveness at Phoebe’s feet, nor her courage or her pride would let her, she sat there in the armchair, barely acknowledging when Shingle entered to take away Monty’s things, and then shut the door.</p><p>         She must have fallen asleep in the chair, at least for a little while, for when Gorby came to announce that the carriage had arrived, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the door creaking open.</p><p>          “The carriage has arrived for you, ma’am. I’d advise your man to go slow, the roads are quite dangerous right now.”</p><p>           Sibella couldn’t manage any words, so she nodded, thanking him. He had her coat over his arm, and gloves in his hands.</p><p>           She gulped, getting up slowly, taking the coat, and then the gloves. He showed her out the room, down the corridor and back into the foyer.</p><p>           For a moment, it did cross her mind that this was more than likely the last time she’d ever step foot in Highhurst again, and she glanced around mournfully. Just when she and Phoebe were beginning to feel like true friends, the truth had to come out and ruin it all.</p><p>           The carriage and Martin waited for her, in the blustering storm that whipped snow hard as ice chips around the air. Sibella immediately wished that Lionel had given her the car, for the carriage would provide little to no warmth against the howling wind.</p><p>          “Thank you, Mr. Gorby, for everything,” she said quietly as he escorted her off the premises.</p><p>           If he was aware of what had occurred in the parlor room and its ramifications, he stayed quiet about it. He only offered her a polite nod in return.</p><p>          Sibella settled into the carriage reluctantly while Martin got the horses ready for departure.</p><p>          The jolt that she felt from the horses trying to pull the carriage along the icy road made her forget about Lionel’s impending anger.</p><p>          Her stomach churned once more, but this time it was more out of nerves.</p><p>          The carriage jolted and bustled along the icy road, she could hear Martin call out for the horses to slow down as they trotted down the road. They were well away from Highhurst now, the horses had done a good job so far of getting her home. But now they reached the narrower roads, the unkempt ones of the village, and Sibella was nervous.</p><p>          Sibella cursed Lionel to the high heavens for having sent the carriage for her instead of the car in this weather. She wondered if that man had any care for her at all.</p><p>          Consumed with her thoughts whilst staring out of the little window, Sibella barely registered Martin’s half choked scream as the carriage collided with something, felt the carriage flip entirely, and her world with it, and then there was an empty nothingness.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so sorry for the delay in updating, things have gotten a bit busy in my personal life, but here I am! <br/>This chapter is... a lot. In terms of words written and in emotions. </p><p>I hope you all liked it, and thank you for continuing to support this story!</p><p>Bubble</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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